


Blood Wound

by Miri1984



Series: The Blight and How It Mucked Us Up [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: M/M, Multi, Reposting because it wasn't uploaded properly, Sequel to Caged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 53,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alim Surana comes back from Weisshaupt to Amaranthine, without Zevran, without a plan, and with very little hope. Set during Dragon Age, Awakenings. Sequel to Caged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

A new year. Alim clutched at the rigging of the ship as it rode the rough waves. He was untroubled by seasickness thanks to a soothing combination of healing magic that he'd shared with a few of the crew, but his heart was heavy nonetheless.

 

Weisshaupt had ordered him back to Ferelden after their debriefing, to take over the wardens in Amaranthine. He'd sidetripped to Antiva as they'd agreed - but Zevran had been nowhere to be found. 

 

Alim pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed circumstance. He'd been happy enough, accepting the position Weisshaupt had given him (for all they weren't pleased with the fact that he was still alive - or the way he'd managed to sidestep that little clause in the grey warden handbook) when he'd thought Zev would be with him, but now the prospect was lonely and painful and... really what he wanted to do was jump ship and swim back to Antiva and hunt the bastard down and _make_ him explain why he'd skipped out on their rendezvous.

 

He touched his lips, remembering too many things - the brush of Zevran's against them, the scent of the man, leather and soap and the tang of sweat.

 

He felt the tear gather at the edge of his eye and shook his head angrily. 

 

There were two possibilities, and Alim wasn't sure which was worse. The first - that the Crows had managed to kill him.. the second, that Zev, never one to be tied down by feelings, had simply decided Alim wasn't worth the effort. _Or had never thought he was._

 

Alim pushed away from the rigging and made his way back into the bowels of the ship. He was Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. He would find compensations there. Arl of Amaranthine too - that had to be worth something.

 

There was always fun to be had. _Something else he had learned from Zev..._

 

He sat on the bunk, renewing his spell and letting the soothing hum of the magic drown out his thoughts. But the voice inside him could never be completely silenced.

 

_Maker curse you. I loved you._

 

_Why couldn't you just have killed me?_


	2. Maybe It'll Be Smaller

It was raining. Naturally. Weisshaupt hadn't been big on rain. Snow and sleet, yes, but rain, no. He should have expected it, but part of him was still Tower trained - unused to the vagaries of weather. A modified telekenisis spell, combined with a small forcefield, kept the worst of the drops from hitting their target.

 

As he walked down the gangplank to the dock of Amaranthine port he spotted his guide - red steel armour and surprisingly lovely blue eyes peeping out from her ridiculous winged helm (the Grey Wardens really had no idea how to look good in armour). Keen. Ever so. He could smell it a mile away. He sighed heavily and tried to put on his most cheerful face as he walked up to her.

 

"Ser. It's good to see you arrived safely," she said. She was taller than him. For some reason that was irritating, although he really should have expected it. 

 

"Your name, warden?"

 

"Oh, I'm not a warden yet, ser," she said, smiling nervously. "Uh.. sorry. Mhairi. My name. It's Mhairi."

 

He allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. "Well, Mhairi. I'll assume from your gear you're a sword and shield specialist?"

 

She nodded. He smacked his hands together and tried to muster some enthusiasm. "Right," he said. "Let's be off then."

 

"You don't want to hire a carriage, Ser?" 

 

Alim shook his head. "A little rain never hurt any one, recruit," he said. But he waved his hand and extended his impromptu rain shield over her head as well as his own. She looked up, startled, then stammered thanks. Alim sighed and thought of Alistair. It would be his luck to be landed with a shield arm who'd had her sense of humour surgically removed at birth.

 

As he suspected, any conversation on the walk to Vigil's Keep had to be initiated by him. Mhairi was dumb with awe at being in the company of the Hero of Ferelden. At least she didn't seem terrified of him for being a mage, or disdainful of him for being an elf. He supposed when he'd been Chancellor the nobles had made it their business to learn contempt for him. It was nice to think that the common people hadn't followed suit.

 

He was busy in his thoughts when the first tingle of darkspawn awareness hit his belly. Mhairi was confused when he pulled her back - confused enough to resist him and waste time they could have used preparing. As it was Alim only had a second to unsling Wintersbreath before the fleeing man nearly barreled into them. 

 

"Maker's balls," he cursed, and heard Mhairi gasp - whether at the darkspawn who were suddenly rushing towards them or his bad language he wasn't sure. He hoped it was the former. He'd learned a few new curses up in Weisshaupt - it seemed colourful language was a Grey Warden specialty.

 

He called down a blizzard, pulling Mhairi back out of the way before she barged in. "Stay!" he called. "Wait!" As he suspected, individual darkspawn would shake off the effects of his spell and get a few feet towards them before they were frozen again. Once they actually reached their position they were depleted and easy for Mhairi to dispatch with her sword. Only two hurlocks got close enough to be any kind of a threat to them and Alim used a few well aimed fire spells to finish them off. 

 

The man was crazed, it was apparent enough from the way he continued to beat on the dead genlock with his mace. Alim could only watch, fascinated, until Mhairi stepped in and stopped the man. His face was contorted with fear and hatred and it was difficult to get anything coherent out of him before Alim sent him away - save that the Orlesian Grey Wardens had singularly failed at doing what they were supposedly best at. 

 

"The darkspawn launched a sneak attack," Alim muttered, kneeling down next to the body of the abused Genlock. "That's unheard of."

 

"This isn't a blight," Mhairi said. "How could they be so organised? I don't understand."

 

Alim was deeply uneasy. There had been no dreams - but he had been in Antiva and on ship - he wasn't certain if that meant anything. Maybe the wardens here had felt something? "Perhaps something else is leading them," he mused, fingering the straps on the Genlock's armour. It had been more difficult to take down than he remembered, and the gear - it looked better kept, not the usual mismatch he was used to.

 

"Other than an archdemon you mean? Frightening thought."

 

 _Maybe it'll be smaller,_ Alim thought to himself, repressing a sudden urge to giggle. _Easier to kill. And if it_ isn't _an archdemon I won't have to die or have sex with Morrigan in order to get rid of it. Win win situation_ there.

 

"Let's get going," he said instead. Mhairi nodded and they made their way towards the keep, fighting off waves and waves of darkspawn. Surprisingly, there were no wardens to be found at all - the only fighters they ran into were Vigil soldiers. Alim kept his concerns to himself and ordered the fighters to the gates as each group of darkspawn were dispatched, keeping Mhairi by his side. 

 

He was starting to get weary when they finally entered the keep proper. The ear splitting howl of a shriek greeted them and before he could react three were on them. He heard Mhairi give a cry that was cut off by an ominous gurgle and let loose a powerful mind blast, not worrying about hitting the warrior. His healing sense told him she needed serious help and he couldn't do that while the shrieks were attacking. 

 

He downed a lyrium potion then froze one shriek, petrified another and set a walking bomb on the third. Another lyrium potion set his vision to blurring and his hands to shaking, but he managed to drag Mhairi out of the way before the infected shriek exploded, shattering its fellows. He sank down next to the unconscious form of the warrior and started tugging off her ridiculous helm. 

 

Her mail was pierced on one side - a shriek claw still embedded in the flesh. Alim gritted his teeth and pulled the claw out before calling forth his healing, cursing to spur the magic into action. No matter how hard he trained, healing never came easily to him, but he grunted in satisfaction as the wound knit together and colour came back into the woman's cheeks. 

 

The last time he'd had to use so much magic he'd nearly lost Zev. 

 

She sat up and started coughing. He pounded her back, helping her bring up the blood that had gotten into her lungs. "What happened?" she asked, seeing the damage to her mail.

 

"Shriek claw," Alim said. "You said you haven't taken your joining yet?"

 

She shook her head. He pursed his lips grimly. "Well, recruit, I'm afraid you've got no choice about it now. Darkspawn wounds like this invariably get corrupted."

 

Mhairi's face paled a little at that, but to her credit, her voice was steady when she replied. "I have never wanted anything more than I want to be a warden," she said softly. Alim clapped her shoulder and forced a smile. 

 

"Well, technically, Mhairi, and as far as I'm concerned,  you _are_ a warden. The joining is just a formality."

 

She smiled at him and he helped her to her feet. Up the stairs and into what was obviously some sort of holding cell Alim felt the unmistakable tang of another magic user before he saw him - tall and blond. Earring. Tevinter mage robes _where on Thedas did he get_ those? Casting a fire spell _with his hands._ Stupid, arrogant.... _handsome_ bastard. When he turned around Alim rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

"Uh... I didn't do it," Anders said.


	3. A Prize for the Wardens to be Sure

Mhairi gave him a look and Alim shrugged. "Hey!" Anders smirked at him and Alim had to resist the urge to tug at his earring. Why had he never realised he had the same hairstyle as him? "I remember you from the circle!" _Surprising. You never spoke to me there..._ "I know what they've been saying about me.." _I doubt it._ 'But this... not my doing." Alim raised an eyebrow at him and felt a grin start. Anders? Worried about hurting Templars? Anders seemed to see what he was thinking and the smirk deepened. "Oh don't get me wrong, I'm not broken up about them dying, to be perfectly honest. Biff there made the funniest gurgle when he went down..."

 

"Not too fond of them, huh?" Alim said. He couldn't deny that seeing those particular templars in bloody heaps was giving him a warm feeling around his belly. If they were the same ones who _usually_ brought Anders in they were no loss to humanity.

 

"Oh, I know, I know. _Most_ people enjoy being kicked in the head to be woken up each morning. Me, I'm just picky." The mage surveyed his handiwork with a smug look. There were at least ten darkspawn corpses surrounding him. Even with the templars' help, it was an impressive feat for a non-warden. Alim started to get the first glimmering of an idea... "I am..."

 

"Anders. I remember," Alim interrupted. "You threw up on Irving's boots once."

 

The blond man's eyes opened wide and his smirk turned into a grin of delight. "Indeed I did... one of my finest moments I do believe. You're.... you're Alim right? I remember you from..."

 

"Your remedial healing classes," Alim finished for him. He couldn't resist calling forth a blue ball of healing magic. "I've improved since then."

 

"Nothing beats practice in the field," Anders said, eyeing the light with a professional nod. 

 

"An apostate, at Vigil's Keep?"

 

 _Repeat the bleeding obvious, why don't you Mhairi?_ But Anders had eyed the girl and Alim could _see_ his other persona slotting into place. Four years hadn't changed him one single bit.

 

"You weren't here when we arrived. I'm sure I would have remembered such a lovely woman as yourself." 

 

"So...you're not a warden? You're just an apostate now?"

 

 _"Just_ an apostate?" Anders looked hurt. "That's what they call someone who doesn't believe in being chained up in the Tower, so yes, I suppose I am. The Templars captured me...."

 

"Again?" Alim said, raising an eyebrow.

 

"Yes. Again." Anders looked annoyed. "And enough with the judging. How many times have _you_ escaped the Tower, any way?"

 

Alim examined a fingernail, smirking. "Just the once, actually," he said.

 

Anders narrowed his eyes. "Yes. Well. They were taking me back to the Tower and then darkspawn attacked. Could be a sign, yes?" The older man fixed Alim with a look that held something more than his usual humour.

 

"I could use your help here, Anders," Alim said. Anders' shoulders slumped in what looked like relief.

 

"Then you have it," he said. 

 

"Are you sure about this, Commander?" Mhairi hissed at him. 

 

"I know him," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. Mhairi blushed. "He's an apostate, but he's harmless..."

 

"Harmless?!" Anders sounded royally offended.

 

Alim snorted. "Well, as harmless as a serial monogamist with the attention span of a lyrium addled gnat can be," he muttered. "Good at magic, not good at _hurting_ people," he said out loud. 

 

Mhairi eyed the dead Templars.

 

"Templars are different," Anders said airily. "And in any case, I didn't kill _them._ Darkspawn got to them first. They wouldn't let me out to help until it was too late."

 

Mhairi still looked deeply suspicious. Alim smiled at her. "Trust me, Mhairi," he said. "Anders... is a good sort. He'll be a lot of help. And I'm running low on lyrium and mana. If we run into more shrieks like the ones outside we could be in a lot of trouble..."

 

She shrugged, eventually. 

 

A few more waves of darkspawn later, and Mhairi was wholeheartedly happy about Anders being around. An emissary caught her in a crushing prison. Alim winced - he couldn't dispel it fast enough, he was down to staff bolts only and he well remembered how painful that particular spell was. Anders saw she was in trouble and dispelled it before she'd been stuck for more than a few seconds.

 

Then, of course, he smirked at her. 

 

Alim knew why he was so angry, but it didn't help him _stop_ feeling that way. Oh the things that Zevran would have to say about Anders.... Alim almost smiled thinking of them - before the pain hit and brought him back down with a thump he was surprised wasn't audible. 

 

When they finally got back to the entrance hall of the keep Alim felt a little better, but being confronted by an obviously unhinged dwarf who seemed to have _explosives_ didn't help his nerves any. "What's _with_ this place?" Anders said. "I thought the Wardens were supposed to be _organised."_

 

Alim shrugged. "Don't blame me," he said. "I only got here a couple of hours ago."

 

"That was Dworkin," Mhairi said. "He... he has a brother who's been helping with the upkeep of the Vigil."

 

"So what was Dworkin doing? Blowing bits of it up to keep his brother in business?" Alim said. The warrior looked uneasy and Alim sighed. "Don't answer that, recruit, I wasn't being serious." He blinked water out of his eyes and prodded one of the darkspawn corpses with his foot. "There are at least another six darkspawn up ahead," he said. "How are we going for stamina?"

 

"I'm fine, Commander," Mhairi said immediately. 

 

"Lying will get you dead, recruit," Alim said bluntly. Mhairi winced. "That emissary had a few lyrium potions. Anders can you manage a rejuvenation? We could use it."

 

Anders nodded and called forth power immediately - with that same effortlessness that used to infuriate Alim in the Tower. He'd thought all senior mages were like that - until Wynne had shown him otherwise. 

 

_Everyone accesses their magic differently, child. You CAN heal, you just believe you can't. It will never come easily to you, but there's no reason why you can't be as good a healer as I am..._

 

The rush of Anders' spell hit Alim and he closed his eyes in pleasure. It was _nice_ to feel another mage's magic again. He wriggled his fingers, feeling the flush of power wanting to manifest in destruction the way it always did. He forced it into healing magic and let a small burst of creation flow through him to ease away the worry and the pain and the aches before he squared his shoulders. 

 

Anders was looking at him and Alim grinned. "Nice," he said. "You held back a bit in the Tower I see."

 

"No point wasting good magic on apprentices," Anders replied, pushing a few errant strands of hair away from his face. 

 

Alim heard it first - after another couple of rooms of darkspawn and a few civilian survivors were dealt with, an unmistakable, roaring bellow. He felt himself grinning before he could stop it. Surely there were other beserkers who sounded like that? It didn't do to get his hopes up - but when he saw the red head and legion armour he couldn't help but give let out a chuckle that turned into a full belly laugh as Oghren turned and _waved_ at him. 

 

"Friend of yours?" Anders shouted, unslinging his staff and starting to cast.

 

"Definitely," Alim replied, doing the same.

 

"Do you attract insane dwarfs or something?" Anders said as he let off his first spell. "Is there a cologne I should be avoiding?"

 

Once the darkspawn were dispatched and Oghren turned to them Alim had to resist the urge to clasp the dwarf in a hug. His memory wasn't that bad and the dwarf usually had some interesting odors about him. 

 

"Ah ha! There you are!" the dwarf said. "When these darkspawn showed up, I thought, just you wait until the new commander gets here and you'll all be spitting teeth out of your arses." Alim heard a snort from Anders, although whether it was repressed laughter or something else he wasn't sure. "Followed the screaming, and sure enough, here you are. Good on ya!" Alim chuckled. Mhairi and Anders, however, despite the impressive display of battle prowess Oghren had just given them, looked uncomfortable. 

 

"What are you _doing_ here, Oghren?"

 

"Came here thinking I might try my hand at becoming a bona fide Grey Warden," Oghren said. Standing up straighter. His green eyes were clouded, however, and Alim wondered what he was keeping secret.

 

"He was here when I left," Mhairi was saying. "I can't believe the Wardens didn't kick him out."

 

 _Because we use any means necessary,_ Alim thought. _You'll understand that eventually. If you survive._

 

"Hey! If it isn't the recruit with the great rack!" Oghren leered and Alim sighed.

 

"Yes. A prize for the Wardens to be sure."

 

"Don't judge by appearances, Mhairi," Alim said softly as Oghren approached them. The dwarf planted his fists on his hips and looked up at Alim's  companions. Alim watched him take in Mhairi's calm warrior stance, then Anders' fancy robes and his eyebrow shot up. 

 

"Who's the mage?" he said looking back to Alim. There was an unspoken question there that Alim _didn't_ want to answer. "Boyfriend? Should I leave you two alone?"

 

Anders crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to one side, obviously ready for the challenge. "Wow. A dwarf that smells like a brewery. You never see that anywhere." 

 

"Huh," Oghren replied, grinning and glancing at Alim. "A mage comedian. Thought those usually died young."

 

"I've missed you, Oghren," he said.

 

"I find that hard to believe," Anders muttered.

 

"As do I," Mhairi agreed.

 

Oghren slid in beside him as Mhairi and Anders went up ahead.

 

"So where is he?" he said, with surprising gentleness.

 

"Oghren, I don't want to talk about it," Alim replied. "Unless you want to tell me where Felsi is as well?"

 

The dwarf grunted. "Slippery bastard," he said. "Fine, if you don't want to share. But I'm getting you drunk later and you're telling me everything."

 

"Count on it, Oghren," Alim said, smiling sadly.


	4. It Needs Lessons in Grammar

More rooms full of darkspawn and those lucky enough to have survived the attack. Alim made a mental note as they worked through room after room, to gather those survivors in the keep somewhere before he let them back into the general populace. There was a real threat of corruption spreading throughout his lands ( _his_ lands, he couldn't help thinking somewhat smugly) if any of those survivors were tainted.

 

He found he could contemplate what needed to be done if they were tainted with equanimity. It scared him, a little, when he had a second to think about it. Considering what he had planned for his three companions, it scared him even more when he looked at them.

 

When they found Rowland, Alim was beginning to feel like he'd been sucked dry. Anders had rejuvenated twice more, but Alim hadn't had to fight this many darkspawn at once since Fort Drakon, and he had had another warden with him then. The pressure to be the one to warn everyone when they were coming - the fact that, as Commander, he was expected to be better at this than everyone - was wearing down on him. When Alistair had been by his side, he'd always known there were people who knew him _before_ he was a warden. Despite the big man's reluctance to lead, having him by his side was a constant reassurance that he _wasn't_ alone.

 

Of course, he'd had Zevran then as well.

 

Even the healing magic wasn't helping him at this point.

 

"Mhairi...." the man's voice was tortured, broken, and Alim _knew_ before he'd even come close to him that there was no hope.

 

"Commander," Mhairi dropped to her knees and took the wounded man's hand in hers. There was no way she could tell how far gone he was, and she looked up at him with eyes full of hope. "Rowland was a knight recruited from Denerim like me. We must do something for him!"

 

"He looks beyond healing magic," Anders said. Alim cursed that the man could be so blunt, especially when Mhairi had looked so hopeful, but truly, his own healing sense told him that the soldier had minutes left, if that. "Maybe a shot of whiskey for the pain?"

 

"I like the way you think," Oghren said.

 

"Stop joking! This isn't funny!" Alim put a hand on Mhairi's arm, trying to offer her what comfort he could. 

 

Rowland's eyes were rolled up into his head and he didn't appear to be able to see as he swung his head from side to side like a blind man. "The... the commander?"

 

"I'm here, Rowland," Alim said. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner."

 

"We only had a moment's warning before they were on us, Commander. The seneschal ordered a counter-attack, but they came out of nowhere! There's one with them, a darkspawn who talks; his magic is powerful..."

 

Alim blinked. 

 

"A talking darkspawn?" Oghren's gruff voice echoed Alim's thoughts. "The lad must be delirious."

 

Alim wondered if Oghren was right, but he didn't have time to question Rowland further. The soldier's back arched suddenly and he let out a high pitched scream of pain. "There's something... in my blood! It hurts!"

 

Alim called forth a sleep spell - enough to put him under until the taint took him, but it was unnecessary - Rowland breathed his last breath and slumped back against the wall.

 

 _Not a pleasant way to go._ He'd seen it before, in Denerim just after the Blight, before he and Alistair had been swept up in officialdom, but it didn't make it any easier.

 

"I will avenge you Rowland," Mhairi was saying. "I swear it."

 

Ogrhen looked at him and rolled his eyes.

 

He didn't know if he'd dismissed Rowland's words as the fancy of a dying man, but coming face to face with the reality of a darkspawn talking shook him to the core.

 

"It _is_ talking," Anders said. 

 

"Well let's shut it up then!" Oghren replied. But Alim held him back. There was enough wind on the battlements that their words hadn't been heard, and he strained his ears to catch what the darkspawn was saying to the kneeling man. 

 

 _Huh. It needs lessons on grammar,_ he thought to himself, before realising that the man was about to be killed. He signaled Oghren to charge and the battle was joined.

 

Mhairi and Oghren dispatched the talking darkspawn's companions easily enough, but their other quarry was not so simple. He was highly resistent to spells, seemed to have his own magical shield as well as a regeneration spell that made the battle feel like two steps forward, two steps back. Alim stumbled at one stage, to feel Anders' hand on his arm, pulsing with rejuvenation magic. He gave his fellow mage a grateful nod, but it wasn't long before Anders was flagging as well. They used the last of their lyrium and Alim was just considering calling a retreat when Oghren, with a massive bellow, managed to launch himself upward and decapitate the thing - a move Alim had never been able to understand how he managed, given his height.

 

"Maker's breath," Anders panted, next to him. "How does he get the upward momentum?"

 

Alim giggled. "Alistair thought he had springs in his boots," he said, also trying to catch his breath. The giddy relief of surviving broke through his melancholy and he was almost cackling when the seneschal started thanking them. 

 

The sounds of boots crunching on gravel distracted them from finding out the full story of the attack from the Seneschal - who seemed reassuringly untainted and sensible. They peered over the battlements and Alim actually let out a little cheer when he saw who it was.

 

"My aren't _we_ patriotic," Anders said sarcastically. 

 

"It's the pike twirler!" Oghren said. Mhairi looked at them both, aghast.

 

 _If they all survive the joining I can see our new favourite past time will be trying to shock Mhairi,_ Alim said, suddenly feeling optimistic, remembering how much fun it had been to try to do the same to Alistair...

 

"We'd better get down there," he said, before his memories wandered into dangerous territory. 

 

Alistair looked the same as always. Fatherhood seemed to be agreeing with him - there was a healthy flush to his cheeks and his eyes were clear. He grinned as soon as he saw Alim. "It looks like I arrived a bit late. Too bad," he said as he approached. "I rather miss the whole darkspawn killing thing." The King was accompanied by several soldiers and a couple of helmed Templars. He shifted uncomfortably, having a pretty good idea, given Anders' presence, what the Templars wanted.

 

Mhairi and Varel knelt as soon as Alistair reached them. Oghren and Anders, funnily enough, didn't. Alim debated it, but then thought it would probably make Alistair uncomfortable, so he hid a grin and sank down to one knee as well. 

 

As he'd hoped, Alistair was embarrassed. "Get up," he said gruffly.

 

Alim looked up at his friend and grinned. "But it's so much fun kneeling for you, your majesty," he said, waggling an eyebrow. Alistair's groan hid Mhairi's gasp of disapproval and he grabbed Alim's arm and yanked him to his feet. 

 

"Maker's breath, Alim," he muttered. "You don't change."

 

"You can't improve on perfection," Alim replied. 

 

"I wanted to come and give the Wardens a formal welcome," Alistair said. "I certainly wasn't expecting this. What's the situation?"

 

Varel answered for them, which was handy, since Alim had a sketchy understanding of what had happened at best. When he revealed that the Grey Wardens were missing Alistair and he exchanged a look. They weren't all women, so there was no reason for them to be taken - at least, no reason that Alim could think of.

 

"Looks like you'll need to rejoin the Wardens after all," Alim said to Alistair, once Varel had finished filling him in.

 

"Toss the throne aside, spend my time adventuring at your side just like old times? Very tempting," for a moment, his old friend looked serious, until a sunny grin found its way back to his face. "But Miranda would kill me for leaving her alone with Eleanor."

 

"How is the princess?"

 

"Extremely cute," the King replied. _"Extremely._ She's just started smiling and laughing. You have to see it, Alim, truly. I'm sad you couldn't attend the birth."

 

"Wynne would have done a much better job, Alistair," he said. "I never get the chance to deliver babes, remember? Most people run screaming when they see the ears..."

 

"The ears?" Alistair said, grinning. "I thought it was your hulking reputation."

 

"Oh, that too," Alim said, waving an arm airily. "I'm ever so imposing."

 

Alistair chuckled. "I do wish I could stay and help you," he said, "but I have to get back to Denerim as soon as possible. One night is all I can manage. You're on you're own, I'm afraid."

 

"Hey, pike twirler. What am I?" Oghren said. "Chopped nug livers?"

 

"From the smell, that's not a bad guess!" Anders interjected.

 

Alistair raised an eyebrow at Alim, although whether it was at Oghren's old nickname or Anders' comment he wasn't sure. 

 

"I came here to join the Grey Wardens, and from the looks of it, you could use the extra hands! Where's the giant cup? I'll gargle and spit!"

 

"You're not allowed to spit, Oghren."

 

"Hah! I bet that's what you always said to the knife-eared pipe cleaner too."

 

"Every night, Oghren."

 

"I'm _not_ listening!" Alistair was trying not to laugh. 

 

Anders, to give him credit, didn't look at all phased by the turn the conversation had taken. Instead he cheerfully elbowed Oghren in what he probably thought would be the dwarf's ribs, but turned out to be his chin. "Joining the wardens, eh?" he said jovially, although the tension under the words was easy for Alim to hear. "Well good luck with _that."_

 

"King Alistair!" The first helmed Templar's voice was familiar, and when she took off her helm Alim winced in sympathy for Anders. "Your majesty, beware! This man is a dangerous criminal!"

 

Alim resisted the urge to snort.

 

"Oh, the dwarf's a bit of an arse," Alistair said, "but I wouldn't go that..."

 

"She means me," Anders interjected.

 

"This is an apostate we were in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice!" Rylock all but shrieked. Alim opened his mouth to answer, but Anders cut in before any of them had time to react. 

 

"Oh please. The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble. I'll just escape again, anyhow."

 

"Never! I will see you hanged for what you've done here, murderer!"

 

"Hang on..." Alim said. "Murderer? This man just helped us rescue a score of civilians from the darkspawn. He's no murderer..."

 

"It's true," Oghren grunted. "I was there."

 

"As was I," Mhairi said, standing straighter.

 

"What happened to the Templars who were holding him?" Rylock shouted. "Four of my best men..."

 

 _"Holding_ him?" Alim forced his voice calm. "From what I saw, Ser Rylock, they were doing more than _holding_ him. Or does the Chantry believe beating a prisoner part of their _duty_ when bringing them back to the Tower?"

 

Anders was shaking his head, trying to stop Alim from talking, but Alim didn't care. "Who are _you_ to question us?" Rylock said, tilting her head arrogantly. "Another mage? Of course you would take his side.... "

 

Alistair bridled. "Watch your mouth, Ser Rylock," he said sharply, and Alim was impressed by the tone of command in his friend's voice. "You're talking to the Hero of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine, Commander of the Grey Wardens. He demands respect."

 

Rylock backed down, but there was still a sneer on her face. "Be that as it may, your majesty," she said. "But the mage Anders still falls under my jurisdiction. He is an apostate and needs to be brought before the Tower...."

 

"No actually," Alim interrupted calmly. "He doesn't. He's _mine."_

 

The look Alistair gave him was speculative. "Yes, Commander?" he said.

 

Alim nodded. "I hearby conscript this mage into the Grey Wardens."

 

"What?" Rylock almost staggered under the weight of her shock. "Never!"

 

"I believe the Grey Wardens still retain the Right of Conscription, no?" Alistair said.  Alim remembered well that Alistair had escaped his own worst nightmare because of that right, as had Alim. "I will allow it."

 

"If... if your majesty feels it is best..." Rylock spun on her heel and left them with barely a bow in the King's direction. Alim noticed Anders watch her leave, his mouth open and a grin beginning, that disappeared as Oghren sidled next to him and elbowed him in what he probably thought was the _mage's_ ribs. It wasn't. 

 

"Way to go kid!"

 

"Me, a grey warden?" Anders squeaked out. "I guess that will work..."

 

"Congratulations Ser mage," Mhairi said. Alim had to hide his grin. He was pretty sure Anders had _never_ been called that before. "I look forward to fighting at your side."

 

"Shall we go inside then?" Alim said. "I think we all need some rest before we attend to the joining."

 

"Absolutely," Alistair said. 

 

"I shall have the royal apartments prepared, your Majesty," said Varel, bowing. "In the meantime may I suggest you accompany the Commander to his quarters? They are the only ones prepared at present. Mhairi - if you could take the other recruits to the barracks?" Mhairi nodded and led Anders and Oghren away. Alistair cocked an eyebrow at Alim and they both followed Varel into the keep.

 

The damage wasn't too bad - it seemed the darkspawn had been intent on capturing the wardens rather than causing damage to the buildings. Alim was pleasantly surprised - the most damage done was by the dwarf's explosives. 

 

"You'll have a lot to attend to in the morning," Varel said as they walked. "But I suggest you get some rest before we start to deal with that. I know the nobles wish to swear fealty, and Woolsey and Garavel need to talk to you about supplying the soldiers and ensuring trade."

 

Alim felt his tension levels rising with every word Varel was saying. He glanced at Alistair to find his friend's eyes amused and sympathetic. It had been a year since he'd had to deal with duties as the royal chancellor, and he'd forgotten how much he detested dealing with the nobility. Varel seemed to catch his mood and gave him a sympathetic grin.

 

"Don't worry, Commander," Varel said. "I'm not just here to obey orders. You'll have the final say, naturally, but truly the running of the keep and the lands is my job, not yours."

 

Alim heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Seneschal," he said. "It's just... a lot to take in right now."

 

"I understand," Varel said. "The kitchen staff are safe and settled. I'll have them send up some food for you and his majesty as soon as possible. In the meantime..?"

 

"Thank you, Seneschal," Alistair said. 

 

Varel bowed and left, and Alistair dismissed his guard to the barracks. The Commander's quarters (Alim presumed they were originally Arl Howe's) were lavish and comfortable. Alim helped his friend remove his armour and he kicked off his own boots before they settled into chairs by the fire. Alistair stretched his long legs out onto the table and eyed Alim critically.

 

"So," the King of Ferelden said softly. "Where's Zev?"


	5. There's a distinct lack of humour

Alim would have avoided the question if he could, but this was Alistair. And not the Alistair from three years ago, who would have stuttered and looked down, told him not to bother answering, but the Alistair he had spent time trying to bring to the surface from the moment outside Redcliffe he’d told him he was Maric’s son. This Alistair knew how to read people - knew how to read Alim better than anyone in the world save Zev.

 

“He didn’t meet me,” Alim said, finally, heaving a sigh. “We were meant to meet up on the road - in Kirkwall, but he wrote to me in the Anderfels, told me he’d been delayed and to meet him in Antiva instead. When I got to Antiva…”

 

“No Zev?”

 

“No Zev.”

 

His friend fixed him with a sympathetic eye. “Do you know…”

 

“If he’s alive?” Alim felt the hitch in his voice at the words and he swallowed, looking into the fire. “I don’t. I found no sign of him at all. And I didn’t have the time to search properly… not and fulfill my duty here…”

 

“Alim, why didn’t you stay? We could have covered for you here.. asked for an Orlesian to take the position, at least until you returned….”

 

“If I hadn’t come back tonight, Alistair, there’s a very good chance no one would have survived at all.”

 

“True, but you couldn’t have known this would happen…”

 

Alim looked at his hands. “Weisshaupt is a hard place, Alistair,” he said. “It’s cold. And lonely. The wardens there aren’t like Duncan - or you and me for that matter. There’s… a distinct lack of humour in that place.” _Almost none, in fact._ “It’s snowed in half the year, but the darkspawn worry at it like a mabari with a bone. Somehow, they know that Weisshaupt is the seat of the wardens. I fought more darkspawn in one week there than we did anywhere else except the Deep Roads and Denerim in the heart of the horde.” He remembered the bells signaling darkspawn attacks - ringing out every few days, once in the middle of a blizzard when he could barely see his hands in front of his face. Remembered trying desperately to heal a new warden - crushed by an ogre. Like the dwarves in Orzammar, Weisshaupt had no trouble keeping belief in the darkspawn threat alive. “They have records there as well, going back centuries. I spent a very interesting month there. And I learned… I learned there are more important things than me and Zev in this world. Fighting the darkspawn, that’s one of them.” 

 

Alistair was silent, dark eyes taking in his words. He laced his fingers over his chest and heaved a breath. “I should have gone with you,” he said finally.

 

Alim shook his head. “No, Alistair. You have your duty here. The first warden wasn’t particularly pleased you refused his request, but he understood, in the end. To him, being the King of Ferelden just… isn’t important.”

 

“Did he say anything… about that I mean?” Alistair asked. “I mean… technically I shouldn’t be _allowed…”_

 

Alim smiled. “Well, again… not the definition of happiness. But a stable Ferelden with a King who is sympathetic to the Warden cause isn’t something to scoff at, even for the First Warden. He came around eventually.”

 

“Good.”

 

There was a knock at the door and a servant entered, bearing a tray piled high with food as well as a flagon of wine. “The King’s quarters are ready, ser,” the servant said as he set the tray on the table. “They’re the chamber next to this one. Should I take your things…?”

 

Alistair nodded and waved a hand “Please do,” he said, in a tone that made Alim chuckle, despite his melancholy. “What?” Alistair said.

 

“Look at you. All… kingly.”

 

Alistair blushed. “It rubs off on you after a while, truly. And Miranda’s been giving me lessons…”

 

“How is she?”

 

Alistair stared into the fire. “She’s well. Very well. There have been a few times she’s… but since Eleanor was born that hasn’t…”

 

“You know what, Alistair? That’s the least amount of information from the most number of words I’ve ever gotten from you.”

 

Alistair sighed. “It’s great, really,” he said. “But she’s chafing at being confined for so long. And neither of us is getting much in the way of sleep, either.”

 

“I suppose being holed up in the palace isn’t fun for her.”

 

“No. She’s still not a fan of being indoors. But…”

 

“You can’t blame her,” Alim finished, grimly. “Truly.”

 

They stayed up for some time, talking and drinking. Alim felt the tension of the past few weeks draining away in the presence of his old friend. No matter what else Alistair was, now, he had always been his brother warden, and he found he was deeply regretting that he could only stay the one night.

 

The following morning, he stood at the gates to farewell the ruling monarch. “Take care, Alistair,” he said as he shook his hand. “And give my love to Eleanor and Miranda. I hope I’ll be able to visit soon.”

 

“Miranda has instructed me to tell you if you’re not in Denerim in the next three months she’ll send someone to fetch you herself,” Alistair replied, smiling. Alim watched the contingent go, breathing in cold morning air for a moment before he turned back towards the Keep to find Varel waiting for him. 

 

“Before we do anything else, Commander, there’s an urgent matter we must take care of,”

 

Alim nodded. “I can guess.”

 

“Yes. Right now, I know of only one living Warden assigned to all of Ferelden. That should be rectified.”

 

“Absolutely,” Alim said. “Call the others to the audience chamber. I’ll need to prepare the Joining ritual myself, first. It’ll take me about an hour. Varel, I’ll have to ask you not be present during the ritual….”

 

“I understand, Commander,” Varel said. 

 

Alim made his way back to his quarters and retrieved the necessary materials from his pack. He had had the remaining archdemon blood that he didn’t give to Weisshaupt shipped to Amaranthine - it would have arrived when the Orlesian wardens were in residence, and Varel said it had been stored securely in a vault near the audience chamber, but he carried his own supply - given the Blight he certainly didn’t want to be in a position where it was impossible to recruit more wardens again. Getting out his herbalism equipment provoked a pang of nostalgia - he really hadn’t had occasion to mix poultices since being on the road and he didn’t imagine he’d get a lot of time to do it from now on in - Anders was accomplished enough in that regard, if he survived the joining he would no doubt ask the blond mage to be their herbalist in residence, at least until they managed to recruit more circle mages.

 

As he mixed and measured, his mind wandered, thinking of all the things he would have to do, starting with this joining. He was in command again - something he’d never been used to, something he didn’t think he was particularly good at, despite everyone else assuring him to the contrary. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, thinking of all the times he’d been looked at askance - a mage, and an elf, and a warden - what help could he possibly be?

 

He finished the potion then dressed, carefully, in his new warden commander robes. Weisshaupt were far more sensible when it came to clothing for mages than the Circle were. The skirt was actually short enough for him to run and the robes were heavier, with leather panels to turn aside a dagger as well as enchantments to protect from magic-draining abilities. He sheathed Spellweaver on his back and slung Wintersbreath next to it; it would do to look the part completely for the ritual, someone dangerous and imposing. A quick look in the mirror - a slight, elven man, dressed for battle. He couldn’t help but think he looked like a child playing dress ups - save for the dark circles under his eyes and lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there a year ago. He felt his gloved hand move, almost of its own accord, up towards the earring in his right ear… but he pulled the hand back, turning resolutely towards the door.

 

Anders, Mhairi and Oghren were waiting, as he had asked. The dwarf and the mage seemed to have hit off a friendship of sorts; they were casually exchanging insults with each other, Oghren sitting on the floor, polishing his axe, while Anders leaned against a pillar, cleaning his fingernails. Only Mhairi paced the hall nervously, her dark head tipped to the floor. He could see her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and he wondered, suddenly, if one of the Orlesian wardens had let slip to her exactly how much danger she was now in.

 

They all looked up as he entered. Oghren gave a low whistle and Anders nodded, eyebrow raised in interest. Mhairi smiled at him, an open smile full of hope and Alim felt his heart clench.

 

“We speak only a few words before the joining…” he began, lifting the cup. 

 

_Maker help you all._

 

 


	6. The girls were a side project

He supposed he should be happy. Only one death, this joining. He had attended a joining in Weisshaupt where _all_ of the recruits had died. The First Warden had assured him that it was rare, but he couldn’t help the shake in his hand as he passed the cup to Oghren.

After Anders, he’d been stupidly hopeful they would get through this without having to awkwardly explain away any corpses, but looking down now at Mhairi he realised he was going to have to think of something to say to Varel. Oghren - Alim was astonished the man was still on his feet, remembering his own joining - clapped him on the back. 

“Don’t worry, elf-lips,” he said. “Varel knows about this, trust me. Every fighting man knows the joining is sometimes fatal.”

Alim looked at Oghren in some surprise. “ _I_ didn’t!” he said.

“You were locked up in that tower most of your life, it’s not like you got regular news,” the dwarf said, then sighed and looked down at Mhairi. “From her enthusiasm I don’t reckon she did either,” he said. “Probably too young. But the word gets around. Man gets recruited, is never heard from again - there’s going to be rumours. Varel seems sensible enough, he won’t blab. We can arrange a pyre for her, say she died of wounds from the initial attack.”

If Varel was going to act as his seneschal he was going to be privy to a _lot_ of Warden secrets, Alim realised. If the man wasn’t close to fifty he would probably have to make him a warden as well - but Alim wasn’t going to risk the joining with someone that old - the success rates were far, far worse the older the recruit got. “You think I should tell Varel?” he said to Oghren.

“You won’t have to,” Oghren said. “He’ll understand. No point in spelling it out.” Alim sighed. “Want me to fetch him? I got to know my way around here pretty well while I was waiting for you.”

“Please do, Oghren,” Alim said. “I’ll stay and wait for Anders to wake up.”

“What’s the deal with him, any way?” Oghren said. “You know him?” the dwarf gave a lewd chuckle. “Did you… _know_ him?”

“You have a filthy mind, Oghren,” Alim said, kneeling down beside the unconscious mage.

“It’s why the ladies love me,” the dwarf replied. He made no move to leave, however, and eventually Alim looked up at him and rolled his eyes.

“The answer is no, Oghren. Anders and I most certainly sit on opposite sides of the Chantry,” he cocked his head on one side, remembering a few stories from his circle days. “Possibly in the same row, however.”

“Hur hur..”

Alim sighed. “Go and get Varel, Oghren. I assure you my virtue is safe.”

“Aye, since it doesn’t exist, sure,” Oghren laughed as he made his way out of the Chamber. Alim sat back on his heels, watching the rise and fall of Anders’ chest - the beginnings of the first squirms as the nightmares hit. He had no idea why Oghren hadn’t passed out - possibly the dwarf had ingested far worse things in his life than a cup of darkspawn blood, but as he watched the sweat form on the unconscious mage’s brow he couldn’t help remembering those first few nightmarish visions in Ostagar. He supposed Anders’ would be different - there was no archdemon right now, after all. Perhaps they wouldn’t be as bad as Alim’s had been.

A few minutes later, when Anders sat bolt upright, a scream forming on his lips, Alim guessed they were probably just as disturbing, even without an archdemon.

Anders grimaced and ran his tongue around his mouth. Alim handed him the hipflask he’d prepared along with the joining potion and Anders gratefully took a deep swig. “Mm. Elfroot and mint,” he said, his voice rough. “And is that a hint of something stronger?”

“The wardens at Weisshaupt distill an alcohol from potatoes, if you’d believe it,” Alim said, smiling. “It’s good to wash away that…”

“Darkspawny taste?” Anders finished for him.

Alim nodded. He saw Anders look around the room and his eyes fell on the still form of Mhairi. “Ah,” he said. “So… I guess I’m one of the lucky ones, then.”

“Did _you_ know the joining was sometimes fatal?” 

Anders shook his head. “Not for sure, no. Luckily, or you wouldn’t have gotten me in here no matter how many Templars you annoyed. But there was definitely _something_ you weren’t telling us.”

“Yes. I’m sorry about that. You understand why…”

Anders waved an arm. “Sure,” he said. “Did the dwarf make it?”

“I suspect there isn’t a substance in this world that Oghren can’t imbibe with impunity,” Alim said wryly.

“He certainly smells like he’s drunk everything in the cellar. At once.” Anders winced and clutched at his head for a moment. “Killer hangover, here,” he said plaintively. 

“Oh, sorry,” Alim channelled some power and put his hands by Anders’ head. 

“Hey, you _have_ improved,” Anders said, blinking. 

“Wynne took me under her wing, during the Blight.”

“That old stick was a better teacher than me?” Anders looked innocent, but there was a hint of a grin around his mouth. “Not that I’m surprised, because, well, pretty much everyone is to be honest.”

“Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you can pass it on,” Alim said. Anders cocked an eyebrow at him. “Something she said to me, pretty early on in the piece.”

“It’s not as if I was ever really concentrating on classes,” Anders said. 

“True. There were girls, and escapes and…. “

“Truly, the escapes were what I was thinking about most of the time by then,” Anders was rubbing the back of his neck. “The girls were a side project.”

“One you were quite enthusiastic about, according to Jowan.”

Anders winced. “Oh, that’s right, you were his friend, weren’t you?”

Alim allowed himself a wicked grin. “There’s a reason most of the apprentices in our dorm referred to you as ‘lover boy’.”

“Riiiight. As pleasant as this little trip down memory lane has been for all of us, is there something else that we need to be doing?”

Alim chuckled and got to his feet. “Indeed,” he said, helping Anders up and walking to the table in front of the throne. “Here,” he said, picking up a grey warden amulet and handing it to his fellow mage. He pocketed Oghren’s - there would no doubt be an opportunity to give it to him soon.

“What’s this?”

“Our ticket to freedom,” Alim said, showing his teeth. “It’s proof you’re a warden - any Templar who stops you will be breaking the Chantry’s law if they try to take you in once they’ve seen it.”

Anders’ face lit up as he examined the small griffon emblazoned vial and Alim was surprised to feel his heart sink a little. Anders slipped the thong over his head, however, and stood up a little straighter. “Mmm. Nice enchantments,” he said. “I get the impression wardens need a lot of stamina.” Alim said nothing, merely eyed him. “Shall I expect a guard on my room tonight?” Anders said finally.

Alim raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. “Do you need one?”

Anders rested his fingers on his chest, where the amulet now lay, looking uncharacteristically serious. “I got out of the Tower a year and a half ago,” he said finally, leaning against the table next to Alim and looking out across the throne room. “Just before Uldred’s rebellion. I was in solitary for my last escape attempt. Irving let me out early… I didn’t give him time to tell me why, just… ran…” 

“You were free for most of the Blight then?”

Anders nodded. “I intended to make for Tevinter,” he said. “But… I got sidetracked. Trying to avoid darkspawn - then I was sidetracked… by other things. I passed through Lothering - well… what was left of it any way.” He shuddered.

“Is there a point to all this?”

Anders grimaced, the fingers of one hand still working at cloth of his robe while the other hand gripped the table behind him, tight enough to make the knuckles white. “When you offered me the chance to be a Grey Warden I didn’t just accept because it would keep me away from the Tower,” he said finally. Alim blinked.

“Well, if you remember correctly, I didn’t actually give you a choice,” he pointed out. Anders laughed.

“True… true,” he said. “But… “ he shrugged and grinned, “I am _exceptionally_ good at escaping.”

They were interrupted by Varel arriving, Oghren in tow. It seemed Oghren was right about how well informed the older soldiers were, for the seneschal barely blinked when he laid eyes on Mhairi’s corpse, merely nodded, sadly. 

“Died of her wounds,” he heard the gruff voice of Oghren behind him. 

“I see,” Varel said, not mentioning that Mhairi had been in perfect health a mere hour ago. “I shall arrange the funeral pyre, along with the others who were killed in the attack.” The large-jawed man looked particularly melancholy. “Poor Mhairi,” he said softly.

“Maker have mercy,” Anders added, under his breath. 

“Come on, sparklefingers,” Oghren said. “Let’s leave elf-lips to do the high-falutin’ stuff. There’s a bunk with your name on it, and I reckon I might even have some brew saved if you’re up for one.”

“It’s not even third bell yet, you smelly dwarf,” Anders said, but he was grinning. Alim felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he watched them walk off.

“Anders!” he called, and the mage turned back with a quizzical look. “I’m still putting a guard on your room!”

The blond mage laughed.


	7. Shutting up now

He let the magic run up one arm and down the other as he lounged in Howe’s throne, Wintersbreath balanced across his knees and his eyes drifting shut. He could almost imagine the light touch of the power as fingertips - delicate, yet calloused, as they eased away aches and pains and set his skin to tingling. As it reached up and passed across his ears he could almost imagine a voice whispering… 

_Rilassarsi, mi amore…_

“Commander?” He snapped open his eyes to see Anders and Oghren standing in front of him. Anders had a enquiring look on his face and Alim quickly dispelled his power. “What was that for?” the blond mage asked.

“Headache,” Alim replied, tersely. “You’ve no idea the day I’ve had. Accountants, Captains of the guard. Sodding _nobles._ Plus I’ve found out there’s someone _else_ out there who wants to kill me and you know what? I was just getting used to not being on the wanted list. Oh, and now it turns out there’s some super-villain in our dungeons that it took four grey wardens to subdue. Hence…”

“You called us?” Oghren said.

“Yup. Haven’t got four grey wardens at the moment, so two and a half will have to do.”

“Do you want to keep those ears on straight, nughumper?” Oghren growled.

Alim clapped him on the shoulder. “Try anything and I’ll boil your liver. _While it’s in you._ ”

“Hah. Nothing it hasn’t had to endure before.”

“Fascinating as this is…” Anders said, one eyebrow raised. 

“Indeed, let’s get going.”

Captain Garavel took them into the dungeons, nattering all the while about how difficult the man had been to catch. Alim listened with half an ear - the other half was eyeing Oghren and Anders and thinking they really couldn’t have two wardens who were _more_ conspicuous and someone with the stealthy abilities Garavel was describing wouldn’t half be useful.

“Did he say who he was, or what he was doing here?” Alim said.

“Wouldn’t say a word,” Garavel said. “Surly bugger.”

They reached the cell and Alim spied the dark haired man in the corner. The light was bad, but he could make out pale skin and a flash of blue eyes. “Open the door,” he told Garavel. The Captain looked about to protest, but Alim rolled his eyes. “Please, Captain. He’s been in here for _weeks._ Give us some credit. I promise to zap him if he tries anything.” Garavel grimaced, but opened the door.

“If it isn’t the great hero,” the voice was rough and dark, to match the cell, and Alim felt a shiver of recognition “conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil.” The figure got to its feet and came into the light, and Alim could see the face clearly. Dark hair, piercing eyes - that _nose…_ “Aren’t you supposed to be ten feet tall with lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?”

Alim called forth a small ball of lightning and allowed himself a little smile. “Are you trying to _insult_ me?” he said.

The man looked down at him with a sneer on his lips. “Somehow I just thought my father’s murderer would be more… impressive.”

Alim snorted. “You know, I’ve killed a lot of people’s fathers,” he said. “I wonder if their children all think the same …. thing…” he trailed off, bits and pieces of memory falling into place with alarming clarity. “Your _father….”_

“I am Nathaniel Howe.” Alim blinked. “My family owned these lands until you showed up. Do you even _remember_ my father?”

He didn’t even know how it happened. There were shouts, and screams and the cooling wash of a hastily cast cleanse. When it stopped, the man… Nathaniel _Howe…_ was writhing on the ground gasping and he was being held back by Anders, who was glaring at Oghren. 

“What?”

“You’re a sodding _Templar._ I didn’t think they _made_ dwarf Templars.”

“They don’t, but the pike-twirler…”

“Shut _up,”_ Alim said. There must have been enough venom in his voice to break through to the two men, because they fell silent. Anders’ grip on his arm loosened and Alim shook himself free to kneel next to the man on the floor. He grasped the pointed chin in his fingers, turning the face to the light. Nathaniel was still gasping for breath - the cleanse obviously hadn’t stopped the worse of his crushing prison from being felt. Yes - the nose, that was Howe’s. The sneer on his lips should have given it away but Alim had been too _distracted._

“You could say I remember your father,” Alim said softly. “I’ll leave it to your imagination what I thought of him. But surprisingly enough, _I_ didn’t kill him.”

“Oh, and who are you going to hide behind, warden?” Nathaniel said, not bothering to struggle against his grip. Alim hadn’t realised, but the purple glow surrounding him was adding far more strength to his hand than this man could hope to break. “Or what? Duty? Honour? Was it _honourable_ to kill an old man in his home, without trial?”

Alim shoved Nathaniel’s head into the ground and leaned over him to hiss in his ear. “Honourable?” he said. “What, in the name of the maker, do you think is _honourable_ about slaughtering an entire family, children included? What is _honourable_ about taking the youngest daughter of that family hostage to be used as a _toy_ for _over a year,_ in the depths of an estate riddled with torturers and tortured? Do you truly have _no idea_ what your father _did_ before Miranda Cousland did Thedas a favour and slit his miserable throat?”

“M.. Miranda Cousland…?”

Alim released his grip on the man’s face and stood up. “Yes. She killed him. I was there. There was no way I was going to take that death away from her. Not after what she’d been through.”

“I…”

“What are you doing here, Nathaniel Howe?” Alim asked harshly. “Did you come for revenge? Did you want to kill your father’s murderer? Because I believe _that_ little act of murder would double as _high treason_ now _. Not_ a very honourable thing to do.”

“I thought… I thought I was going to try to kill _you,”_ Nathaniel said. “Until I got inside. Then I realised all I wanted was to reclaim some of my family’s things.” Alim was silent, looking down at the man, who was slowly moving around to a sitting position. “Look,” he said, and his voice shook. “Whatever my father did shouldn’t harm my whole family.”

“Your father destroyed an entire family based on a rumour - one I suspect he created himself. Why should I be any more merciful to yours?”

“Please. I was in the Free Marches when the Couslands were attacked… I had no idea…”

“Commander, he’s right…”

“Shut up Anders.”

“Shutting up now.”

“You were caught breaking into the Vigil,” Alim said calmly. “I’ve got more than enough evidence to hang you. But I won’t.”

“You won’t?” Nathaniel looked up at him, confusion in his gaze.

“No. I’ll let the Queen decide what to do with you. In the meantime you can rot here. Consider yourself lucky these cells aren’t as well equipped as the ones your father kept.”

He spun on his heel and let Garavel slam the cell door shut. Oghren and Anders followed him and he had to restrain himself from snarling at them to leave him alone.

“Commander…” Anders tone was confused as they reached the courtyard. Alim leaned his hands against the statue of Andraste and heaved a breath, trying to bring his emotions back under control. “Commander?”

 _“What_ Anders?”

“Are you really going to hang the man?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well… _he_ didn’t do anything worse than break in…”

“No, but his father…” _repeatedly raped my best friend’s wife. Had my allies imprisoned and tortured. Almost got me killed…_

“We all know what his father did. Even _I_ know what his father did. It’s not the same thing.”

Alim turned and let his back rest against the statue, folding his arms across his chest and eyeing his fellow mage. Oghren was fingering his axe, but his green eyes were unreadable. 

“What I said stands. The Queen should get to decide. She’s the one who’s been wronged here.”

“Not by him though,” Anders said. “By his _father._ Do you think all children should have to pay for the crimes of their parents?”

“Are you _moralising_ to me, Anders?”

“Sparklefingers is right, Commander,” Oghren said gruffly. “This isn’t dust town. The only thing that man did wrong was pick the wrong parents.”

“He _broke in here_ in order to _kill me,”_ Alim said.

“Right. So, if we were going to say… go on past performances… shouldn’t you be fucking him by now?”

Alim shot Oghren with the lightning bolt before he could think. The dwarf just laughed, however - he was remarkably magic-resistant, even more so than most of his kind. 

“Have I joined an order of _maniacs?”_ Anders shouted as he grabbed Oghren and called forth healing magic.

“Don’t bother,” Oghren said, pushing the mage aside. “Old Oghren’s tougher than you think.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Anders said. “Right up to the point where one of your organs gets cooked. Lightning spells are no joke. And it’s never a good idea to antagonise a mage.”

“Humph,” Alim said. “Oghren should know by now that it’s not a good idea to antagonise _me._ I’m in command here. And I’m very sensibly _not_ stringing the Howe up by the neck from the front gates the way I’d very much _like_ to, so don’t go asking me to display any _more_ restraint.”

“Are you serious about letting the Queen decide what to do with him?” Anders asked.

Alim nodded firmly. “I’ll write the letter now.”

“Address it to her, not to the pike twirler,” Oghren called after him as he made his way back inside. “Don’t want a vengeful king descending on the Keep, it might frighten the help.”

Alim managed a grim smile.


	8. What on Thedas are you wearing?

The letter should have been difficult to write, but he found it surprisingly easy. He enclosed it with a lengthy report on the state of the Vigil’s defenses and treasury, but made certain it was addressed to Miranda personally and sealed. Oghren was right, it wouldn’t do for Alistair to learn of Nathaniel’s presence before Miranda did. The boy was liable to explode from anger and smite the man all the way from Denerim.

_Your Majesty,_

_Upon arrival at Vigil’s Keep, the captain of the guard informed me that we held one Nathaniel Howe prisoner in our cells. He had been found attempting to steal items he has since claimed belonged to his family._

_As Arl, I have the authority to hang him for his attempted crime, however, given the nature of his relations I thought it prudent to inform you first, so that you might decide the man’s fate yourself._

_Your humble servant,_

_Alim Surana_

_Commander of the Grey_

_Arl of Amaranthine._

It would be at least two days getting to Denerim, but Alim found he didn’t care how long the decision took to make. Having the Howe rotting in the cells beneath the keep gave him a feeling of rightness - something that had been sadly lacking in recent weeks, and made him feel, if not happy, at least solid in his dealings with the nobles and problems that began pouring into his lap as soon as the sun rose the following day.

The nobles wished him to rid the countryside of darkspawn - this was something he had expected. They also, however, expected him to settle petty disputes, allocate funding, send and equip troops and as far as he could tell, wipe their sorry arses every time they defecated. He wanted to shout at them. He half wondered what would happen if they were all simply removed. Without an active threat, like the Orlesians, or the darkspawn, he suspected the commoners wouldn’t even notice. It was only when they were in danger that they believed the nobility were necessary.

And sometimes not even then.

To top it off Maverlies said there were still ways for the darkspawn to get into the Vigil. He had her clearing the rubble that the maniac Dworkin had caused with his explosives to get underneath the keep, but the revelation that the Deep Roads _passed under_ Vigil’s Keep had him deeply uneasy. He had been wondering why his dreams were so disrupted, that there could be darkspawn crawling directly underneath his bedroom would go a long way to explaining it.

Once the letter was posted he made his way down to the courtyard, intending to talk to whoever Varel had managed to scrounge up for an armourer. He found Oghren deep in conversation with Herren of all people, and blinked as he took in the taller figure at the forge. 

“Maker’s arse, Wade!” he exclaimed as he approached. The armourer turned, a faint look of distaste around his mouth before he saw who it was. 

“Oh it’s _you!”_ he said. “Herren _said_ you were the Warden Commander now, but I simply didn’t believe him. What on _Thedas_ are you _wearing?”_

Alim chuckled. “Warden Commander mage robes, Wade,” he said.

The armourer was measuring him with his eyes again - his hands took in the breadth of Alim’s shoulders and his head was cocked on one side. “Better than those dreadful circle robes you were in the first time I saw you, but still, really, couldn’t they have managed a better _colour?”_

“Blue is standard, Wade,” Alim said.

“But _that_ blue??’

Alim laughed. “What are you doing here?”

“King Alistair sent us,” Herren answered before Wade could launch into his familiar litany of complaints. “He seemed to be under the impression that your men would need arms and armour.”

“Well, nice to know he cares,” Alim said. 

“We’re short on materials, though,” Herren continued. “At the moment the best we could do would only equip a quarter of your troops - and…”

“We have _standards_ Herren!” Wade interrupted. “And what you propose is _sub-standard!_ I won’t have it I tell you!”

“Wade…”

“No. No no no. It simply will. not. do. We must have better ore. Commander, _you_ know what I mean! You cannot substitute for quality!”

Alim held up his hands and backed off, grinning. “As you say, Wade. I will have my men look for better ore. From what I remember Amaranthine is quite resource rich, there shouldn’t be any trouble…” _provided those darkspawn aren’t going to be a problem…_

“Thank you, Commander!”

“Yes. Thank you,” Herren’s tone was long suffering and Alim had to suppress a chuckle. The two men were like the worst old married couple. 

Oghren had been standing watching the exchange with one eyebrow raised. Alim turned on him, remembering that he had questions to ask of the dwarf. 

“What?”

“I believe you meant to punctuate that sentence with ‘ser’, Oghren.”

“Bah! Had enough of that in the army. Aren’t the Grey Wardens meant to be an order of equals or something?”

“It entirely depends on how you define equal,” Alim said, motioning for he dwarf to follow him. They made their way to the battlements. Alim instinctively sought height when he was troubled - Weisshaupt had several towers that were perfect for his needs. He would have to consider moving his quarters to one of the Tower rooms - they were all empty and in disrepair at present but he was certain they’d be more comfortable than where he was at present. He knew it was irrational, but his current quarters seemed to _smell_ of Howe.

The spot where they’d first encountered Varel had become a favourite of his - it overlooked the road and much of the surrounding countryside. A ballista had been moved there recently as well. 

“So,” Oghren said, reaching into his armour and pulling out a hipflask. “What’s the story?”

Alim raised an eyebrow at the liquor. By the end of the Blight Oghren had all but stopped drinking, that he was back in the swing of things boded ill.

“Why aren’t you with Felsi?” Alim asked bluntly. 

Oghren’s eyes slid away from his and he took a deep pull from the flask. “You don’t fuck around with the hard questions do you boss?” Alim crossed his arms over his chest and glared. Oghren looked at him defiantly. “Why aren’t you with the Antivan?” he shot back.

“I’m pulling rank here, Oghren. You tell me first.”

Oghren shoved the flask into Alim’s hands and grunted. “Fine,” he said, shoulders sagging. He sat, heavily, on the stand that held the ballista, and Alim saw the sadness that he’d glimpsed when they’d first seen him in the Keep resurface. 

“I couldn’t do it, boss,” he said finally. “I tried. Ancestors, I tried hard, especially when the nuglet was born… but…”

“But what?”

“There’s only two things that keep the memories away,” Oghren said. “Fighting, and drink. And this sodding country is at peace.”

“Felsi isn’t enough?”

“Nug balls, Alim. You want me to feel worse? I look at her and… I don’t want to, but I see Branka. What we could have had if she…”

“Hadn’t been stark raving mad?”

Oghren let out a small laugh. “Yeah. That.”

“So you were drinking again?”

The dwarf grimaced and nodded. “Too much. Too often. So I took myself away. Best thing for both of them, I reckon.”

Alim sighed and sat next to his friend, taking a swig from the flask and coughing at the flavour. “Whiskey?” he said.

“Ran out of the good stuff,” Oghren said. Alim tried to hand the flask back, but Oghren shook his head. “Nah. Give me some darkspawn to fight instead.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“So, what about you?”

Alim looked up at the darkening sky - rain was on its way. “I really don’t know what happened, Oghren,” he said softly. “All I know is…”

“It hurts?”

Alim took a deeper swig of the awful stuff and nodded. “Huh,” Oghren said. “Wouldn’t have thought the Antivan could make anyone feel that bad.”

“Part of me should have expected it I suppose,” Alim said. “He always said he took his pleasure where he could. I always thought I was fine with that.”

“It’s never sodding simple,” Oghren said. “When I was a kid - there was this duster girl. We had fun together, you know? Good… well, not clean, but good fun. And when my mam found out she went crazy mad at me. Sodding dwarves and their sodding castes.” The dwarf rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I always wanted to go back to the way she made me feel. I thought Branka was like that, then she had to get herself made a Paragon and everything went to shit. And then I thought Felsi could be, but then she had the nuglet and suddenly I was supposed to be responsible and…”

“Welcome to the world, Oghren.”

“Yeah, well, sod the world,” Oghren said. “It’s never fair.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both lost in thought. Finally Alim eyed the dwarf.

“You should talk to Felsi,” Alim said. “At least she’s still there to talk to.”

Oghren looked at him, mouth working in distress. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I should.”

 _But you won’t,_ Alim didn’t voice the thought. Oghren would get there, in time. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late for him.

“Commander!” Varel’s voice floated up to him from the courtyard. Alim thrust the flask back at Oghren and stood, looking over the battlements to see the figure of the seneschal looking up at him from the courtyard. 

“What is it, Seneschal?” Alim called down.

“Trouble, Commander.”

_Now there’s a surprise._


	9. Do this do that

“Looks like there’s more than just darkspawn under the keep,” Varel was saying. 

“You say there’s a deep roads entrance in the Knotwood Hills?” Alim asked, tracing his fingers over the map they’d laid on the table.

“Yes, although I couldn’t tell you exactly where. Garavel said the men who found it would only give out the information for coin…”

Alim cursed. “They’re still in Amaranthine, though?”

“Yes.”

Alim sat back into his chair and eyed Varel over the table. He needed to go to Amaranthine any way - to check up on Kristoff, to meet with this supposed Dark Wolf (and where had he gotten _that_ name from any way?). But he hated to leave the keep when it was possible the Queen could arrive. 

“I have a week, maybe two until the Queen arrrives,” he said. “Do you think that’s enough time?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s only a day’s journey to Amaranthine - another day to Knotwood. Providing you weren’t too long in the deep roads you could be back at the Keep within a week.”

“That’s a pretty big proviso,” Alim muttered. “The deep roads have a way of sucking you in for weeks.”

“No politics,” Oghren said, grinning. “Orzammar’s a long way from here.” 

Alim caught the dwarf’s eye and grinned. “Very true. It should just be a straightforward killing spree.”

“Always with the fun with you people!” Anders said. “Tell me, will we get time in Amaranthine for side trips?” there was a glint in his eye as he asked the question and Alim felt the stirrings of suspicion in his gut. He hadn’t put the guard on Anders’ room, in the end. For all they had little to do with each other in the Tower (aside from that Satanalia incident that Alim fervently hoped the older mage didn’t remember) he knew enough to think well of the man, and he had decided a display of good faith would probably make the mage more willing to stay rather than less. He hadn’t been disappointed. But there was a reason for his current request.

“Feeling antsy, lover boy?” Alim said. “I’m told there’s quite a good brothel in Amaranthine, run by…”

Anders looked momentarily annoyed. “As though I’d need a _brothel_ Commander,” he said. “No… I just wanted to look someone up, that’s all. An old friend.” Alim cocked an eyebrow. _“Yes,_ a friend. If you don’t mind.”

“We’ll see if we get time,” Alim said. Anders looked satisfied and Alim wondered exactly who it was he needed to see. “Get yourselves ready, we leave in an hour.”

~~~

“You’re saying you’re the Commander of the Grey Wardens, Arl of sodding Amaranthine, and we _still_ don’t get horses?” Oghren was complaining. He hadn’t really stopped since they’d started their walk. It was, for a change, a fine Autumn day, a chill in the air that made Alim glad of his warden-issue cloak, and the opportunity to stretch his legs somewhere other than the deck of a ship or through ten-foot drifts of snow was actually very pleasant.

“No horses, Oghren,” Alim said. “Do you want to expose them to the taint every time we encounter darkspawn? They’re expensive, we can’t afford to lose half of them to the joining.”

“Where’s that sodding dog of yours any way?” Oghren said. “I could ride _him…”_

“Barkspawn is with Alistair in Denerim, Oghren,” Alim said. “I told you…”

“Hang on, hang on, _Barkspawn?”_ Anders’ voice was high, incredulous, and amused. “You have a dog called _Barkspawn?”_

Alim shot him a look. The blond mage’s lips were curled in evident delight. “Alistair named him,” Alim said. “What? You would have preferred I call him _Mr Wiggums?”_

Anders raised a finger. “I didn’t name Mr Wiggums, you bloody well know that. It was that Andras girl…”

“The one with the rabbit ears?”

Anders chewed a cheek. “Yes. And the absolutely _enormous_ …”

“Don’t finish that sentence. I have no desire to know about her other attributes.”

“Oh, but you’re _missing out,_ Commander,” Anders eyes had glazed over in reminiscence. Alim grinned. 

“You really haven’t changed.”

“What possible benefit would change have?” Anders said.

Alim chuckled, feeling relatively cheerful. Truly, it was good to be on the road again, with a purpose that didn’t involve budgets or nobles or reconstruction. The pleasant weight of his weapons and pack on his back and the crisp air had him humming cheerfully under his breath. 

Anders spoiled it all though. “When did you get the ring in your ear?” he asked. “I thought I was the only one experimenting with piercing in the Tower.” 

The grin fell away from his face like water and his hand went up to cup his right ear. The gold was cold - colder than the air. Icey. 

“Like some moonshine to wash your foot down with sparklefingers?” Oghren said, chuckling as they walked. 

“What did I say?”

“Just shut up, fancy pants.”

“I’ll have you know I’m not wearing any….”

“Too much information! Ancestors, does wearing a skirt suck out your tact or something?”

“I never thought I’d hear a _dwarf_ accuse me of lacking _tact.”_

“Oh, I’ve got tact a plenty. Dispensed with an axe. Want to try some?”

“Only if you don’t mind having your beard burnt off.”

“You wouldn’t _dare…”_

Alim let their voices wash over him, hoping to recapture the cheerfulness he’d grasped at, but failing. He sighed and let a trickle of healing magic warm his belly and ease the tension that had started in his neck and shoulders. 

~~~

They reached Amaranthine at dusk, and Alim was amused to see their contact, Colbert, hanging around the gates. There was an elf with him. A brief discussion, some casual racism and a coin later they had a location marked on their map. 

“Does that happen everywhere you go?” Anders asked as the men walked away. 

“What?”

“That… _I didn’t expect an elf_ thing?”

Alim chuckled. “Only if they don’t notice I’m a mage first,” he said. Anders plucked at his robes, a small smile playing around his lips. 

“Oh, it’s going to be fun actually _being_ a mage. The smell of freedom is heady and sweet.”

“That’s just someone baking a pie.”

“Just the thought that there are pies to be had is enough for me. I’ve lead a pieless existence, up to now.”

“That’s bullshit, Anders. The circle served pie every second Thursday.”

“Not in solitary they didn’t.”

“They finally did that, did they?”

“What you didn’t know? I suppose they didn’t advertise the fact. Didn’t want apprentices going down there and poking fun at the escapist.” Anders looked troubled, shadows of old pain in his eyes. “Maker, I wish they had.”

Alim felt a surge of sympathy. “How long were you down there for?”

Anders looked troubled. “A year,” he said. Alim tried to picture the easy-going mage stuck in a stone cell with no-one to talk to for that long and winced. It would drive Alim mad.

“Was it worth it?”

The sunny grin that spread across Anders’ face was such a complete turn-around from his previous expression that Alim had to laugh. “Pie, Commander. There is pie somewhere up ahead. It would have been worth _ten.”_

They were stopped and searched at the gates. Alim sighed and reached around to open his pack. Truly they should have realised he was Commander of the Grey and the sodding _Arl_ but he was too tired to argue and they weren’t carrying anything contraband, unless Oghren had made more of his moonshine, in which case he rather hoped it _would_ be confiscated. Just as he was about to start unpacking, however, another voice chimed in.

“Soldier, are you completely _blind?_ You’re about to go through the things of _the Arl of Amaranthine.”_

The solder blinked. “What?”

The constable gave Alim an apologetic look. “Just go, soldier. Let me handle this.”

“But…”

_“Go.”_

“Ser!”

The soldier scuttled away and the constable turned back to Alim. “I’m so sorry, m’lord. Constable Aiden here.”

Alim waved an arm, surprisingly warmed by the use of _m’lord. How many elves get_ that? _How many_ mages?

“Never mind, man,” he said. “Why are you searching people in the first place?”

“Smugglers,” Aiden said. 

Alim took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ok. Fill me in, Constable.”

Oghren groaned.

~~~

At the Crown and Lion Alim sat alone at a table drawing patterns in a puddle of ale. Do this. Do that. Save our people. Kill this dragon. Build this fortress. Andraste’s flaming underpants, he was getting _old_ and he was _tired_ and he really, _really_ needed a massage. Or something. 

Kristoff was gone, had been gone for a week. They would have to make a trip to the Blackmarsh to track him down. Alim didn’t hold out much hope for the man to be living and he’d mentally pushed the Blackmarsh to the bottom of the list of his million things to do, feeling guilty as he did so. It would be too much to hope that _one_ experienced Grey Warden had survived the purge.

He wondered if Ferelden was allergic to Grey Wardens.

“Nice spot,” Anders said, sliding into the booth opposite him. He held two frothing mugs of ale, and he passed one to Alim, who took it. “Although there are a couple of drunks at the front door discussing who would win in a fight, Andraste or the Archdemon.”

“Archdemon,” Alim said absently. “Unless she had an army of mages and dwarves along for the ride as well.”

“Right, well, you could probably settle that dispute for them, if you wanted.”

Alim heaved a sigh. “Better things to do,” he said, pushing his empty tankard away and taking a deep pull at the second one.

Anders was eyeing him. “Like drink yourself under the table?”

Alim blinked. “You know, I’ve never tried that,” he said. “Do you think it’s possible?”

The other mage grinned and took a deep drink from his own tankard. “I’ve ordered pie,” he said. “Life is good.”

“You really do think that, don’t you?” Alim said, cocking his head on one side.

“Always have, always will,” Anders said, spreading his arms. After a moment, though, his smile faded. “Look, I… wanted to apologise. For before. Oghren told me… where you got the earring from.”

“Huh. Chatterbox. And you can’t judge - I know you only got yours to impress that Amell woman.” 

Anders laughed and tugged at his earring. “Oh, Maggie loved piercings. And tattoos, for that matter.”

“You never got a tattoo though,” Alim pointed out.

“That’s what _you_ think. Oghren not joining us?”

Alim shook his head. “Oghren and inns don’t mix very well. At least not these days.”

Anders eyebrow shot up. “Interesting company you keep, Alim Surana.”

Alim grinned at him. “Oh, indeed, Anders.”

_Indeed._


	10. Sodding elf lipped pansy

_I must credit the gorgeous ScaryLady (who writes Trouble & Strife - a magnificent fic if you don’t read it - you really must, it’s fantastic) for the idea that magic has a taste. She wrote a story about it which is not safe for work, if you are feeling up for some very nice Anders.. it’s on her LiveJournal page I do believe although I don’t have a link handy, sorry peeps._

Smugglers, stopped. Information gathered. Alim hefted his pack on his shoulders and looked back at the city that he could now consider _his_ with a small smile of satisfaction on his face. They had a day to reach the Knotwood Hills and possibly fight a horde of darkspawn. He found the prospect of letting loose some serious destruction _extremely_ appealing. The number of times he’d had to stop himself from blowing things up recently were beginning to give him grey hairs.

Anders and Oghren made the miles go faster. He listened to their constant sniping, reminded inevitably of Alistair and Morrigan, or even Zev and Wynne in his happier moments. The elderly mage had never approved of Zev, had in fact, attempted to talk him out of pursuing a relationship with the man, and Zev had taken to tormenting her at every opportunity because of it. 

When they reached the cavern Alim called a halt. They would camp on the edge for a night. Oghren complained of a strained muscle in his thigh and Alim offered to heal it for him - even though with the dwarf it was sometimes difficult for healing magic to take. 

“Well, we’ve got two healers now, haven’t we? Maybe the mad skirt wearing _freak’s_ magic won’t hurt as much as yours does.”

Anders shot Alim a look. _“Hurt?”_ he said. Alim flushed and made a face at Oghren. 

“My healing magic hurts, apparently,” he muttered. _Zev_ had liked it. Everyone else in the party had gone to Wynne whenever they could, unless they were in dire need.

“Well _that’s_ weird,” Anders said, stroking his chin. “I’ve never heard of that happening before. What did the old stick have to say about it?”

“Wynne said it had something to do with the fact that I default so readily to destruction magic,” Alim said. “I can’t seem to completely separate the two. It was the reason they told me I couldn’t heal, in the Tower…”

Anders’ face had taken on a look of intense interest. “That _is_ interesting,” he said. “When you healed me after the joining I didn’t notice anything like that though…”

“Minor headache,” Alim said. “It only really comes out when I need to use a lot at once. Mhairi would have told you about it…” _if she’d survived._ “Although I suspect she’d never been healed by a mage before - she led a fairly sheltered life in the King’s Guards.”

“Let me feel,” Anders said decisively. “Maybe I can help you with it.”

“You’re not injured,” Alim pointed out.

Anders grinned. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t look at me like that, I can feel you jolting yourself with healing magic every now and then and I _know_ you’re not sick…”

Alim shifted uncomfortably. Dosing yourself with magic was one of those things not-approved-by-the-tower. If, by a random freak of accident, you ever required healing in the Circle, you always went to someone else. 

“Look,” Anders said, “I’ve been on the run more times than you can count. You think I hesitated to heal myself if I needed it? I know _you_ have. Any mage who’s spent _any_ time outside the tower has done it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Fine. Let’s deal with Oghren first, then I’ll show you what I mean.”

Oghren grunted when Alim sunk his magic into his leg. Oranges and spice, Alistair had told him his magic tasted like. But hot, like being slowly pricked with a needle. Anders sat on the other side of Oghren, his hand resting lightly over Alim’s, eyes closed and a slight frown on his face as he felt what the other mage was doing. Near the end, when Alim had done what he could, he felt a surge of magic from the other mage and was nearly overwhelmed with the flavours that poured from him - rich and dark and sweet, like an expensive desert, covered in chocolate and cream. He resisted the urge to lick his lips as Anders completed the spell.

“Feels much better, thanks,” Oghren said. “But if you don’t get your hands off my thigh soon someone’s going to lose a limb.” Anders laughed and sat back on his heels. Alim took the opportunity to squeeze the dwarf’s leg and leer suggestively, before pulling back himself. “Sodding elf-lipped pansy,” Oghren muttered, but there was no malice in it.

“What do you think?” Alim said.

“Wynne’s right,” Anders said. _“All_ your magic has a hint of destruction in it. That’s what that… fizzy taste is. You can’t separate it out?”

“I’ve tried.”

“Give me another healing spell,” Anders said.

“Are you certain?” Alim said. Leliana had _screamed_ the first time he’d healed a major injury of hers. He still shuddered when he remembered it.

“Hey, pain’s fine, as long as it doesn’t come with blood leaking out of me.”

Alim shrugged and gathered his power for a strong heal, Anders took his hands and he released the magic, watching as Anders flinched back, gritting his teeth against the pain. He waited a moment, then felt a rush of Anders’ magic wash back over him. “Let me see if I can show you…” Anders was saying, but Alim could barely hear him. His knees nearly gave out as the magic seemed to fill him up from the bottom of his feet to his eyeballs - so much richness, depth. _Anders’_ magic had nothing of destruction about it, yet Alim had _seen_ him in battle and _knew_ that he was just as able in that regard as Alim himself. _Does it work the other way?_ he wondered. _Do the darkspawn give up and lie down just so they can feel more of_ this?

“Commander?” he blinked. “Commander can you hear me?” 

He was sitting on his backside next to the campfire. His hands were his own again. He felt a bit like he’d been through a wringer - or given one of Zev’s _special_ Antivan massages… He hastily crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap.

“Yes, yes, sorry…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “That was just a bit… intense.”

Anders was smirking at him. He repressed an urge to zap the man. “Did you get what I was trying to show you?”

“Levels,” Alim muttered. “There are different levels to the magic. Wynne tried to show me the same thing. But there’s always a level of mine that’s tied to destruction - just like there is, I suspect, always a level in _yours_ tied to healing,” He shrugged. “It’s just the way it is.”

“I’m sure you can do something about it,” Anders said, chewing his lip.

“Probably,” Alim said. “When we’re not in the middle of trying to rid the world of darkspawn I promise to give it some study.”

Anders chuckled. “Well I’m happy to try to help. And in the meantime I’ll handle the healing if you handle the blowing stuff up.”

“Agreed,” Alim said. 

That night, in his tent, he sat cross-legged and examined his hands. He called forth spell after spell, examining the levels in them as he did so, trying to find why it was that he couldn’t let go of that little fizzing spark of destruction. Entropy. Spirit. Creation. It was there in every single tree, every single spell. It was what made him such a force on the battlefield, he knew. But a part of him had always wanted to have what Anders had - that capability to heal instead of destroy. He’d worked so hard at it - he’d gotten so far… but not far enough.

His pack was staring at him in the corner of the tent. There was _one_ school of magic he hadn’t yet tried. The First Warden had given him the book, in Weisshaupt. Alim’s circle trained soul had quailed at it, but he’d taken it, stuffed it in the bottom of his pack and not looked at it, vowed to himself he wouldn’t even _think_ of looking at it.

 _You’re a coward,_ he thought. But he didn’t move to take the book out. He suspected he never would.

He sighed and sucked in a breath, letting the energy fizzle away slowly, a small rejuvenation spell settling under his skin. _He_ didn’t mind the pain. It was comforting and soothing at the same time, like an old friend (or a lover). 

_“Il mio amante, the pain is exquisite. It is something you learn to crave, if you use it correctly.”_

_Alim laughed, a short stutter of incredulity. “Crave pain? Are you crazy?”_

_Zevran gave him one of those_ looks. _The kind that shot straight to his groin and stole his breath. The kind that had them sneaking into the woods amidst roving packs of werewolves, without a thought to their own safety. The kind that made Wynne roll her eyes and Alistair blush._

 _“A jolt of your magic, Alim,” Zev said, tracing his hand over his hair and cupping him at the base of his neck with strong, calloused fingers “…at the right moment, could bring me to my knees and you would not even have to touch me._ This _is why I come to you and not to Wynne, despite the majesty of her bosom. Let Leliana and Alistair run to the old lady with the gentle hands.” The Antivan dipped his head forward and captured Alim’s mouth with his own, kissing him so thoroughly and deeply that Alim thought he would drown. “I wish to be handled by_ you.”

When he woke in the morning, he felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks.


	11. Girl's got guts

“You’re _claustrophobic??”_

Anders shifted from foot to foot as they looked into the chasm. “Just a teeny bit,” he said, sounding sheepish.

Alim rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you the one who told me dosing yourself with magic was _allowed?”_ he said. “Give yourself a zap, lover boy, you won’t notice the fear if you do.”

“Fine, _fine,”_ Anders said. “But I’ll have you know no darkspawn has yet to be felled by me _giggling_ at them.”

“You might be surprised,” Alim said as Anders called forth a thin tendril of power and a blue green glow briefly settled into his skin. “Don’t overdo it and you’ll be fine.”

Anders huffed, but there was the hint of a grin around his lips. Alim repressed a sudden urge to shudder - or to dose himself the same way. He wasn’t claustrophobic, and he suspected Anders’ problem stemmed from his year in solitary. If anything, Alim had been the opposite when he first left the Tower. He still remembered how nauseous he’d felt in the boat back across to the shores of Lake Calenhad. 

They began their descent into the chasm. Alim sensed the darkspawn first, and tried to approach cautiously, until he heard the unmistakable sound of a woman’s shout amidst the grunts and calls of hurlocks.

“They’ve got someone,” he hissed to Anders, and set off at a sprint towards the sounds. He didn’t check to see if Oghren or Anders followed - just assumed they would, and when he rounded the corner and came face to face with the group and the dwarven woman with them he started casting without thinking.

The fight was short and brutal and the dwarven woman - who was wearing the armour of one of the Legion of the Dead to his astonishment, was doubled over panting at the end of it. She’d wielded a wicked looking axe and dagger with a good deal of skill during the fight, but it was obvious she was dangerously tired and possibly injured. 

“Well,” she said. “That was close. For a moment there I thought I was really about to join the Legion of the Dead.”

“Are you all right?” Alim asked.

“I might have cracked a rib, but it’s hard to be sure,” she gave a remarkably sunny grin and Alim found his own lips twitching in response. “ _Everything_ hurts.”

“Anders,” he said, and the other mage nodded and approached the girl. She waved an arm, however, and shook her head. 

“No.. it’s all right,” she said, but Anders tutted and called forth magic. Alim saw her eyes closed and tension leak out of her shoulders as he worked. He couldn’t help eavesdropping while he did so - remembering the feel of his magic yesterday and nursing a flame of envy at how effortless he seemed to make it.

“Cracked rib, wrenched shoulder joint _and_ bruising to the kidneys, young lady,” Anders said, eyebrow twitching as he turned on his charm. The dwarf girl, however, seemed oblivious. 

“Thank you,” she said. “Wow. That feels… so much better…”

“You should rest.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I just need to catch my breath. Anyway, I can’t chat for long. I should probably go back… as foolish as that sounds… see if there’s anything I can do.”

Anders looked from her, to Oghren, to Alim and back to her, face puzzled. “What? Aren’t any of you going to stop her from going?”

“She’s in the Legion,” Oghren said, his voice gruff with respect. “It’s what she does. But we’re not going to let her go alone, are we Commander?”

“Commander?” the girl looked up. Alim nodded.

“I’m a grey warden,” he said softly. “Tell me what you know.”

Her name was Sigrun, and she was indeed, a legionnaire. Alim listened to her story with mounting concern - this wasn’t going to be an easy trip down to the roads to find out what was happening and a leisurely stroll back up again. The chances of them being less than a day down here were rapidly decreasing. _Two_ factions of darkspawn? _Building an army…_  

He was confused. It wasn’t typical darskpawn behaviour - nothing he’d read in Weisshaupt had mentioned anything like this. Add to that the talking darkspawn and he was suddenly very nervous about descending into the deep roads with _three_ wardens and _one_ Legionnaire. 

“I’d be happier if we could send for reinforcements,” he said when Sigrun had finished her story. 

“Huh. If we _had_ any,” Oghren said. “We can’t take common soldiers down there, even sparklefingers is jittery about it. Deep roads is dwarves and warden work, Commander.”

Alim nodded at his friend. “You’re right,” he said. “And it’s not as though we did the Dead Trenches with many more, is it?”

“Too bloody right,” Oghren said, hefting his axe. 

“You’re coming with me?” Sigrun said. “Well! The more the merrier. Except for the merry part, I guess.”

 _She bounced._ Alim blinked, completely nonplussed. Oghren, however, laughed. “Girl’s got guts,” he said as they followed her down into the darkness. “And a hell of a nice rump to go with it.”

“Oghren, you are still a married man,” Alim said. 

“Bah. Sodding fun spoiler.”

~~~

The next four hours passed in a blur of darkness and darkspawn and stench and blood. They sat, in the middle of a room in the ruins of KalHirol, while Sigrun and Oghren examined a tablet that commemorated the heroism of people who owed nothing, yet still sacrificed everything. Alim had to force himself to blink. His mind was numb with the ghosts they’d seen and the sheer…. idiocy of the world. He couldn’t imagine what Oghren and Sigrun were thinking. Oghren was originally warrior caste - but the dwarf had never shown any sign of the casual hate for duster dwarves that Alim had seen in Orzammar.

Orzammar had made Alim’s head hurt, in more ways than one. Not just the heat, and the rock, and the oppressive, ever present niggling of darkspawn-just-out-of-reach, but the line that was so clearly and irreversibly drawn between _us_ and _them._ It reminded him of the Tower - Templars and Mages. It reminded him of the Alienage - humans and elves. It reminded him of all the little ways people tried to create groups for themselves that somehow made them _better_ than everyone else, without any reason behind it other than _blood_ or _power_ or the shape of their sodding _ears._

“Are you all right?” Anders said. Alim had pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to force all the memories back where they belonged, but it was so hard, back here in the deep roads.

Hard not to think about where _he_ would end up, one day. One of those piles of bones in the corner Zevran had taken such delight in looting. _How many of them had been wardens?_ “Fine. Fine. How’s the claustrophobia going?”

“Oh, it was great. Just great until you mentioned it,” Anders said, but he was grinning. “No, seriously, it’s not so bad any more. Finding that bucket of lyrium was a plus, too.”

“You’ll be mixing that into potions for weeks,” Alim pointed out.

“Hey, I love mortars and pestles and flasks and burners. And being _alone_ in a room while I work - I don’t think that will _ever_ get old. Especially when I know I’m making it for _me_ and not for Biff and Rylock and their mates. Gives me a warm fuzzy feeling in my belly.”

Alim managed a laugh. When Oghren and Sigrun returned, they had sombre expressions on their faces. He nodded, understanding, and they got on their way.

~~~

The sounds coming from the end of the corridor were enough to give him pause. _Nothing_ he knew had a tread that heavy - except for a dragon, and he really _really_ didn’t feel like fighting another one of the buggers. 

“How’re your ice spells?” he asked Anders.

“I’m better with lightning,” the other mage said. “Why?”

Oghren was looking grim. “Something big up ahead,” he said. Sigrun nodded, and they all hefted their weapons and edged forward carefully.

“Sodding tits of the ancestors,” Oghren breathed as the contents of the room came into view. A massive steel golem, wreathed in flames. Two darkspawn, one caught in the fist of the golem, and another, ranting about some “mother” or somesuch in that lisping voice they seemed to have acquired. 

Alim was no fan of any kind of darkspawn, but watching one be ripped in two by something he was almost certainly going to have to fight did nothing for his nerves or his stomach. 

The darkspawn that remained was completely insane. Insane, and in command of the most powerful golem Alim had ever seen.

“Oghren, Sigrun, get back,” he shouted as the golem started lumbering towards them, then nodded at Anders. “Lightning from you, ice from me,” he said as he started to cast.

Sheer elemental force shot from both of the mages and bathed the cavernous space in destruction. Alim cursed as he realised the darkspawn had some magic resistence, but at least the golem was taking heavy damage from the ice and lightning playing over its massive frame. When the storms dissipated Sigrun and Oghren rushed to tackle the darkspawn, Oghren felling it to start with a focused smite that Alim felt the edges of himself. Anders and he concentrated on staying out of the golem’s way, trying with all their might and power to stop it from focusing on the two melee fighters. 

Wintersbreath throbbed in his hands as he drew on power reserves he didn’t know he had to freeze the golem over and over again. Anders hit it with lightning every now and then, but most of his efforts were concentrated on healing the others. 

When _finally_ the darkspawn fell Oghren and Sigrun focused their attention on the golem and the battle seemed to turn. The golem’s right leg stopped working and they were able to hack at it from behind without much danger of being hit by its flailing fists. Only its periodic gouts of flame were a problem, and Oghren and Sigrun avoided them with that dwarven nimbleness that Alim had always admired.

When finally, the golem staggered and fell, he had not a scrap of lyrium or mana left, He’d been using the charge of Wintersbreath only to channel what magic he could scoop from the fade as it came. He felt utterly empty and completely exhausted.

“Ah… a little help…” the voice was high and urgent and full of pain. 

Anders. 

“By the stone!” Sigrun.

“Alim get your skinny arse over here _now.”_ Oghren.

The golem had fallen. But Alim hadn’t been paying attention to where. 

“This hurts a _lot,”_ Anders again. “‘Sgood thing I’m about to pass out.”

Alim dropped Wintersbreath and ran to the side of the golem, where the human mage was pinned underneath its carapace. His right arm and leg were trapped, his robes and skin pierced by the edge of the golem’s shell. 

_Fuck._

“Don’t mind if you heal me when I’m asleep,” Anders muttered, blood forming on his lips as he spoke. “Won’t hurt then…” the brown eyes drifted shut.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

No mana, no lyrium. “I’ll help you get it off him, Commander,” Oghren said.

“No. No no no,” Alim said. “If we pull the shell out now it’ll take half his blood supply with it. The shell’s plugging the wound. I’ll need to heal it as we go.” _Heal it with what?_ He frantically searched the mage’s robes. No lyrium. No secret stashes. He could run back to the raw lyrium.. _no._ It would take him an hour, maybe more, to mix a potion from raw lyrium and Anders didn’t have that much time.

_Fuck._

His eyes fell on his pack, resting against the wall of the room where they’d dumped their gear when the battle began. He didn’t stop to think, just prayed to the maker it was as easy as Jowan had made it look as he leapt to his feet and sprinted for the pack, rooting through it for the book and opening it to the first page.

“He’s _reading a book,”_ Sigrun’s voice. He shouldn’t pay attention, he needed to concentrate. At least he only had _dwarves_ with him for this. Neither of them were likely to scream maleficar.

His eyes scanned the pages. So _absurdly_ simple. Have the right words, the right tools, and blood magic was easier than any spell he’d ever sweated over in the Tower. No wonder people were so afraid of it. Blood as mana. The words of the spell to access power, ancient Tevinter. He gritted his teeth and drew his dagger, closing his eyes as he recited the words and stabbed his hand.

 _Oh Holy Maker…_ the rush of power was like _nothing_ he’d ever experienced. Not his own, nor Anders’ nor Wynne’s magic had ever felt like this. He stood up, rejuvenated, raced back to where Anders was lying, the skin around his lips and eyes already looking slack. Oghren merely nodded at him - Sigrun seemed oblivious. 

“Right,” he said shakily. “Let’s get started.”


	12. What is that smell?

“What is that _smell?”_ the voice was soft, but strong, and Alim, who had been dozing on the floor of the cavern next to his patient while Sigrun and Oghren kept watch, blinked fuzziness from his eyes and sat up hastily.

“Anders?”

“Who else would it be?”

Alim chuckled weakly. “You might have been possessed by the spirit of pig-headedness,” he said, trying to control the desire to pass out. He had bound the wound on his hand but faced with the problem of healing a wound that was actually giving him the power to heal the wound had defeated him. He’d lost quite a bit of blood before he’d felt confident enough to stop healing Anders. But he was proud of the result. The two crushing wounds - one in the mage’s arm and another in his leg - were closed and only two jagged, but thin, red lines were any indication that they’d been there in the first place. Once Anders was back up to full strength he’d be able to heal them further and, Alim guessed, not even have scars to show they’d been there in the first place.

It had been touch and go for a while though. The golem shell had only just missed the big artery in Anders’ leg, and getting the shell out without severing it had been the hardest part of the process. 

“I rather suspected I was going to be dead,” Anders said then, sitting up gingerly. “How did you heal me?”

Alim glanced down at his hand, feeling heat rush to his face. Anders had never hidden his opinions of blood magic - it was one of the reasons he’d not been executed despite his escape attempts. Alim had little reason to believe the man would _like_ the way he’d saved his life. But he also didn’t think Anders would have wanted him to let him die.

When he looked up again he saw Anders’ eyes were also fixed on his hand. “Ah,” he said. 

“The smell you were asking about?” Sigrun said, approaching, not noticing the two mages had been talking. “Broodmothers. Up ahead. We’ll need to take them out if we want to stand a chance of stopping another horde of darkspawn.” She was balancing on the balls of her feet, eager to be off, as though she hadn’t just spent hours trying to bring down something twenty times her size. Oghren was standing behind her, leaning on his axe.

“Woman, they need some time,” the red bearded dwarf said. “Don’t want to be going into battle again so soon after such a big fight.”

“I can scout ahead,” Sigrun said. “See what we’re up for?” She sounded so eager. 

“You do that,” Alim said heavily. Anders’ eyes were still fixed on him. They felt like twin needles, boring into his soul. 

“Sure thing, Commander!” the dwarf girl said and bounced away, oblivious to the tension surrounding the men.

Oghren stayed, however, staring at Anders almost as hard as the mage was staring at Alim.

“You going to make trouble for the Commander about this, sparklefingers?” he said, and there was no mistaking the menace in his voice.

 _“Blood magic?”_ Anders’ voice was low, and incredulous. 

“You would have died, Anders,” Alim said, also soft.

“Was it true then, about you and Jowan?”

Alim’s nostrils flared. “About Jowan, yes. About me? No.” Anders raised an eyebrow, but Oghren snarled at him.

“I was with the Commander when the horde hit Denerim, you slack jawed _coward,_ ” he spat. “And that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him use blood magic. And it saved your sodding, sorry, skinny _life.”_

Anders held up his hands. “And I’m grateful!” he said hastily. “I am. Truly. Dead is _bad._ I just…”

“What?” Alim said.

“I didn’t expect it of you.”

Alim pushed himself to his feet. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said harshly, and went to gather his things.

“Wait!” Anders got to his feet - remarkably easily, Alim noted bitterly, and grabbed his arm. “Let me,” he said, and Alim felt that rush of rich magic again as Anders healed the wound in his hand. He looked up at the man - so, so much taller than him, and nodded. Anders returned the nod.

When Sigrun returned Alim was beginning to feel relatively normal again. He was still slightly weak, and he suspected he’d have to eat a lot of red meat in the following weeks, but apart from that he felt normal. His hand, however, was scarred. The wound had been open too long to prevent it. Any Templar worth his salt would now know him for a maleficar. 

The weight of it had settled painfully on his shoulders. _Zev wouldn’t have cared,_ he reminded himself. But the thought of facing Alistair again - or Wynne - or even Leliana…

 _Any means necessary,_ he reminded himself. There had been blood mage wardens at Weisshaupt. They hadn’t been walking abominations. He’d had conversations with them. They were still people. And it wasn’t as though he was a devout Andrastian any way. 

 _“In the maker’s eyes I am the worst of sinners,_ il mio amore magico. _I kill, for money, not even with the justification of defense.”_

_“Not any more you don’t,” Alim pulled his fingers through the wheat coloured hair, feeling the heat of his skin against his hands - Zev always seemed to be hotter than any of his other companions - even though he constantly complained of the cold._

_“Ah, but maybe I shall again, no?” Zev touched the tattoo on his cheek, the delicate black swirls that Alim had been so fascinated with when he’d first seen the elf. “I am still a crow after all.”_

He picked up Wintersbreath and slung it on his back. The talking darkspawn had been carrying an extremely fine staff, volcanic aurum, more powerful even than Wintersbreath, but Alim wasn’t tempted by it. He’d carried his staff since they’d exorcised Soldier’s Peak - he had no desire for another. But Anders was still lugging around a standard circle issue number - good enough for practicing in the library but not much chop against the constant waves of darkspawn they’d been facing. He picked it up and carried it to where the blond mage was resting against a wall.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the staff at the seated man. 

“Ooh, shiny!” Anders said, grinning and taking the staff. 

“You can’t be lugging that piece of circle crap around forever,” Alim said.

Anders nodded. “It’s high time I upgraded, yes? It seemed more important to get out of those yellow circle robes than to worry about the staff. I didn’t expect to be fighting darkspawn, after all.”

“Where _did_ you get the Tevinter robes?”

Anders shuddered. “Let’s just say the Blight left a lot of people around to loot,” he said, expression dark. He plucked at the rips where the shell had pierced the cloth. “But they’re ruined now.”

“I’ve got warden issue ones,” Alim said. 

“Like yours?”

“Not quite as fancy, but yes.”

“Practical. But where’s the fur?”

“If you desperately want fur I’m sure we could persuade a Blight wolf to donate you some,” Alim said, smiling now. 

“Well, my shoulders get cold,” Anders said. “And ladies like to have something to hold onto, I’ve found.”

“Your _shoulders?”_ Alim said, intrigued despite himself. Anders opened his mouth to answer, but Alim held up a hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Commander!” Oghren’s voice came from the exit of the room. “Sigrun.”

The dwarf girl grinned as she came in. “I was right. There are broodmothers,” she said. “And it looks like they’ll be pretty easy to kill.”

“Easy?” he said. Sigrun nodded. He huffed. “Well. Easy I _like.”_

_~~~_

His hand was steady as he passed the cup to Sigrun. The dwarf girl had been so enthusiastic about joining the wardens that Alim had been pleased, and for the first time he didn’t feel especially guilty about the threat of imminent death. Sigrun was dead already, according to her. The cheerfulness with which she accepted that fate was proportionally in opposition to how grim it might have been for her had they not come upon her in the deep roads. For the first time, should she survive the joining, Alim felt like he might actually be _extending_ the life of a recruit.

He couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face when it was clear she would survive. Anders attended to her while Alim scrounged up some new robes for the human mage. Anders had been indignant about having to wear a regular shirt and breeches on the way back from Knotwood, even though the damn man wore them half the time at camp any way (he did not know _anyone_ half so fastidious about keeping himself and his clothing clean). 

The death of the broodmothers had been quick and as merciful as could be expected. Best of all, they’d been able to do it from a distance. Alim would be a happy elf if he never had to go within ten feet of a broodmother again - although he guessed he was probably in the wrong line of work to expect that to happen.

He was going through the chests he’d brought from Weisshaupt when Garavel found him. “Ser,” the captain said. Alim had a moment to realise the man looked _remarkably_ like constable Aidan in Amaranthine and made a note to ask him whether the two were related.

“Yes?”

“The Queen’s carriage has arrived.”

_Ah._


	13. Did you bother to ask anyone?

Miranda stepped down from the carriage elegantly - helped by her lady’s maid, Liana. She held the baby in the crook of one arm - a tiny thing, no more than three months old, and Alim’s heart lurched. Of course, she couldn’t have left Eleanor, he’d been stupid to assume the Queen would visit on her own, but part of him wondered if she intended to take her mother’s namesake into the dungeon.

She caught sight of him and rushed forward, grasping his hand in hers and smiling widely. 

“Alim it’s good to see you, we’ve missed you at the Palace,” she said. Alim smiled back. She looked well, but then she always did, these days. 

“I’m sorry to pull you away,” he said softly. “But I thought…”

She looked up at him, her grey eyes pained. “You said you had Nate in the dungeon?”

 _Nate._ “You sound as though you know him,” he said. 

She handed Eleanor to Liana and heaved a deep sigh. “Let’s go inside,” she said. 

Liana took the baby to the Queen’s quarters and Miranda accompanied Alim to his office. “What did he do?” she said.

Alim leaned against his desk and frowned at her. “Broke into the Vigil. Tried to steal from us. He _says_ he merely wanted to reclaim some of his family’s things.”

She took a deep breath. “He’s not like his father, Alim.”

“Really? He’s given me no reason to think that.”

“What do you want to do with him?”

“You want my honest opinion?” he said. She fixed him with a hard stare and he shrugged. “Hang him. He threatened to kill _me._ I think it’s justified.”

“Can I see him?”

“Only if I accompany you.”

“I… yes. Yes I’d like you to come with me. We knew each other, Alim. You have to remember that… Howe and my family were very close. I knew all of them. Thomas, Delilah…”

“And Rendon. You thought you knew _him_ too,” he couldn’t stop the harshness of his tone, even though she paled and winced at the name. _Not healed, no,_ he thought. _Not completely. Perhaps never._

“Alim, I’m sure there was a reason Rendon sent Nate away,” she said. “I’m not willing to paint him with the same brush. Not until I’ve seen him again.”

He pushed himself off the desk and jerked his head towards the door. “You’re a better person than I am, then,” he said gruffly.

Miranda smiled gently. “Never that, my friend,” she said.

~~~

He looked the same as he had a week ago - more stubble on his jaw, possibly a little thinner although Alim knew for a fact they’d been feeding him the same as everyone else in the Vigil, much to Garavel’s annoyance. As they entered, he got to his feet slowly, no doubt expecting a guard, instead, he gripped the bars of the cell with white-knuckled fingers.

 _“Mira…”_ he breathed. 

Beside him, the Queen tensed and Alim could see her hands shake before she clasped them firmly in front of her, tilting her chin the same way she had done in the Landsmeet chamber more than a year ago. 

“Nathaniel,” she said, and her voice was calm and measured. Alim bit his lip, but moved to the side so the two nobles could speak, but he kept his eye on Nathaniel, who’s tortured expression would have given Jowan a run for his money.

“Is… is it true? What my father…?”

“It’s true,” she said. “All of it.”

“Maker’s breath,” Nathaniel leaned his head on the bars of his cage, eyes squeezed shut. “Why didn’t I _know..”_

“Did you bother to _ask_ anyone?” Alim said. 

Miranda held up her hand and Alim clamped his mouth shut. “You never knew him, Nate,” she said. “None of us did, as it turns out.”

“Oh but we did,” Nate pushed himself away from the bars and turned his back on them. “If I’d been here… if I’d known what he planned…”

“But you weren’t,” Miranda said firmly. “And _my father_ didn’t see this coming, Nathaniel. There’s a reason why he sent you away.”

Nathaniel bashed his fists against the back wall. “He sent me away because I was…”

“Because you were a good man who wouldn’t have stood for what he wanted,” Miranda said. Alim snorted. “Shush, Alim,” Miranda said.

“No, he’s right,” Nathaniel said. “I’ve been royally stupid. I should have checked - should have written - to _you_. Or to Delilah…”

“There was a _blight,_ Nathaniel.”

“What did that bastard _do_ to you? Why….?”

“Nate… please. It’s over. He’s dead.”

“You killed him.”

“I did.” There was a finality and satisfaction to her tone that cheered Alim - no she wasn’t healed, but she was whole, and moving forward. 

As for the son…

“They’re going to hang me,” Nathaniel said then. “I can’t… “

“No, they’re not going to hang you, Nate,” Miranda said then. 

Alim stood up at that. “We’re not?” he said.

Miranda shook her head. “No. Alistair wants him conscripted.”

Alim’s jaw dropped. “He _what??”_ Miranda turned to him, mouth set in a hard line. “No,” Alim said.

“Outside, I think, Commander,” she said, and her voice had the ring of command.

In the courtyard, Miranda folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “You can tell your husband to sod off,” Alim said. “I’m the Commander here.”

Miranda sighed, but there was a hint of a grin around her lips. “Alim, I pleaded with him not to come here and chop Nate’s head off himself. This is the only compromise we could come to. He knows you need wardens - Nate is very skilled, he’ll be a valuable addition.”

 _He might die in the joining._ Alim didn’t think Alistair had let that little detail slip to Miranda. He bet Alistair was counting on it.

“I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure he hasn’t got a knife ready to stick in my back!”

“Honestly, Alim, I thought you were more forgiving than this.”

“I _was_ and _look where it got me!”_ he heaved a breath and shut his mouth, resisting the urge to clamp his hand over it as well. Miranda was simply watching him, her grey eyes cool and knowing.

She watched him for a moment, considering. _“_ He has a sister, you know? Delilah. Would you hang _her_ as well?”

Alim scowled. “His _sister_ didn’t break into my _keep_ and try to _kill me.”_

“Do I have to beg you, Alim? If I can look past who his father is, surely you can as well?”

Alim closed his eyes. “I thought you would want him killed,” he said softly. “Why don’t you?”

“Because he’s _not_ Rendon. He never was. Because he meant a lot to me, once. And because I think you need him, Alim. None of your other wardens know the Arling - do they?”

“I have a seneschal,” Alim said, and he had to acknowledge that his tone sounded sulky, even to himself.

“Nathaniel is a valuable man. A _good_ man. If you recruit him, you have my personal guarantee he will serve you well.”

“Maker’s breath, this is…”

“Alim.”

“Fine. Fine I’ll sodding recruit the Howe. But I’ll hold you to that guarantee, your majesty.”

Miranda smiled and laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Alim.”

“Do you want to talk to him again?”

“No. I should go back to Eleanor. We’ll be gone in the morning.”

“As you wish.”

She squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, Alim. I’m sure…” her mouth worked a little, but she closed it and shook her head. “Never mind. Be safe.”

“Tell your husband he has the backbone of a slug,” Alim said. She grinned. 

“Oh, I will.”

~~~

Back in the dungeon, Nate was sitting cross legged on the floor of the cell with his head in his hands. Alim looked down at him, feeling rage and frustration curling in his belly at the thought of recruiting him into the order he’d come to respect. But Miranda had more reasons to want this man dead than anyone, and she had pleaded for mercy.

“Stand up,” he said harshly. Nathaniel did so, slowly. Alim unlocked the door to the cell, throwing it wide and standing aside so Nathaniel could exit.

“Where are we going?”

 _Possibly to your death,_ Alim thought. “The joining,“ he said instead. “From this moment forth, much as it pains me to say it, you’re a Grey Warden.”

“She convinced you, then.”

“She is a very persuasive person,” Alim said, giving the man a little shove towards the door. “I’ll have you know she’s given me _her personal guarantee_ that you won’t stab me in the back the next chance you have. If I didn’t respect her so much I’d hope you _did,_ because I will take a great deal of pleasure in making your death as slow and painful as your father’s was.”

Nathaniel winced.

~~~

Anders’ look of shock was comical, when Alim called him to attend the unconscious Howe. He didn’t trust himself to treat the man - destruction magic would no doubt surge through and do more harm than good if he tried. “You conscripted him? I thought you wanted to kill him?”

“I did. Unfortunately the joining ritual decided otherwise. Why it spared him and killed Mhairi I’ll never know.”

Anders grimaced. “Yes, well. We’re all slightly dodgy, here, aren’t we? Perhaps wardens aren’t meant to be straight and true.”

Alim thought of Duncan with a twinge of grief. The old Warden Commander had been a good friend to him on the trip from the Tower, an entertaining companion. And he had been _grey_ in every sense of the word. He’d related stories about what wardens were expected to do to overcome the threat of the darkspawn and Alim had felt, even then, the awesome weight of responsibility that the wardens carried.

Even Alistair - for all his inherent _goodness_ and that irritating propensity for sanctimony - even Alistair had his own private darkness - the fire in his eyes as he beheaded Loghain Mac Tir - the desire for _vengeance_ had polluted him so far that he’d thought nothing of killing a woman’s father in front of her.

 _A blood mage, an apostate, a drunk, a dead woman and a Howe,_ Alim thought.

“You may be right, Anders.”


	14. We're official now

“Where’re we going?” Sigrun hadn’t lost any of her bounciness. Alim found it strangely soothing, and in direct contrast to the broody Howe who stood next to the statue of Andraste with his bow slung over his shoulder and his _nose_ and his _hair_ and his… 

Alim turned his attention away from the Howe, and back to Wade and Herren, who were busy fitting the dwarf with new warden armour. Her Legion gear had been fine quality, but worn and ill-fitting. He guessed that the Legion would pass armour on whenever a comrade fell - it wasn’t as though armourers and weaponsmiths were common in the deep roads. The dwarven girl was extremely tough, though, and he had Wade fashion her some warden chain in white steel. Anders was newly resplendent in robes the same as Alim’s own, Oghren still wore the suit they’d scrounged from the deep roads under Orzammar. warden plate was good, but not as good as that, and Alim was hardly going to insist they all wear matching outfits. It was important that Anders and he be recognised as wardens on first glance, but the others were free to wear whatever they wanted. For now.

He looked back at the Howe, in his fine leathers, and pursed his lips.

“Under the keep,” Alim told Sigrun, who was having the last of her straps adjusted. “Maverlies says there’s an entrance to the deep roads there.”

“Ooh, really? We never knew about that!”

“Neither did I,” Nathaniel said, sounding curious. 

“Humf,” Alim said. “Well, we’ll go down and have a look. The last thing we need is for Darkspawn to shoot up and attack us in the middle of a justice hearing.”

“Might break the monotony a bit,” Oghren said. Alim rolled his eyes, then turned his attention to Sigrun.

“She’s done, Commander,” Wade said. “But I’m not happy with it… I haven’t had cause to make for dwarves in a while and I think…”

“Are you _kidding?”_ Sigrun said, eyes shining as she spun around to show of the new chain. _“_ This is _awesome!_ I’ve _never_ had anything this pretty!” She stopped and threw her arms around Wade, who looked completely nonplussed for a moment before patting her shoulder awkwardly.

“Why… thank you… miss…” he said. Alim hid a chuckle behind his hand.

“Can we go and kill things now?” Sigrun stopped hugging Wade, who still looked shocked, and pulled out the sword and dagger Alim had given her from the armoury. Dumat’s spine was made from the bones of the last archdemon - and Alim had never seen its equal. Not even Starfang matched it for quality. He’d given her a dagger as well… although his mind shied away from its origin. Seeing it resting in her fingers he’d felt how subtly _wrong_ it looked - the dwarf’s fingers were stubby and strong, not the long-fingered elegant ones he remembered. But it was the best dagger he owned, and Sigrun deserved to fight with weapons that matched her skill. He’d asked her if she preferred axes but she’d shaken her head. Apparently in the legion you used whatever weapon you could get your hands on.

It sounded all to familiar to Alim, whose equipment until recently had always been scrounged from corpses. 

“A proper bunch of fighters, eh Commander?” Oghren said, grinning, and fingering his axe. “Far cry from what we used to use in the Blight.”

“Oh, yes,” Alim managed a grin at his friend. “We’re _official_ now.”

“These robes are too short,” Anders said grumpily. 

“Anders, the boots reach your _knees,”_ Alim said. “And if you want to complain about short, have a look up Nathaniel’s skirt why don’t you.”

Anders sniggered. “Oh I _was,_ Commander, I _was…”_ The tone was enough to make Alim look at Anders sharply… before he shook his head. Now would _not_ be the time to discover he’d always been wrong about the mage. And Nathaniel’s legs were distraction enough for now. _The man’s a Howe, and he has a terrible nose,_ Alim said to himself. But part of his brain was filling in Zevran’s comments. 

_I am certain with a little coaxing we could exploit his darker tendencies, uomo magico…_

In the basement Nathaniel stopped, looking confused. Puddles of blood still remained from the ghouls they had cleared out before he’d been freed. “These cells didn’t use to be here,” he said, his voice strained.

Alim cocked an eyebrow at him, but didn’t bother to reply. “There’s a door down here we couldn’t open,” Oghren said gruffly. “Wonder if it’s where your daddy kept his nastier secrets.”

“The door to the foundations?” Nathaniel said. “I could open it, if you wanted. We were never allowed in there as a child.. but I picked the lock once,” the dark haired rogue smiled slightly and tipped his head. “I could never get up the courage to actually go through, though.”

Alim shuddered, thinking of what might be down there. “Perhaps on the way back up,” he said. 

When they got down to where the cave in had been cleared Nathaniel gave a low cry. The clean up crews hadn’t managed to remove the corpses from down here - the area wasn’t likely to be used so it had been pushed to the bottom of the list. Nathaniel rushed to the side of the ghoul woman with a choked sound in the back of his throat.

“Adria,” he said. “No!”

“You knew her?” Alim said.

“She… she brought us up. Delilah, Thomas and I. She was… dearer than a mother to me. Did these darkspawn kill her?”

Alim caught Oghren’s eye, then Anders’. The dwarf shook his head minutely and Anders bit his lip. It wouldn’t do for Nathaniel to learn that Oghren had caused the gaping wounds on her chest - that Anders had caused the burn marks down her side - that Alim had cast the crushing prison that ended what had become the misery of her life.

“Yes,” Alim said softly. “They killed her.” In a way it was true, he supposed, but he still felt obscurely guilty. When they still looked human it was always more difficult.

“Well then,” Nathaniel said, and his voice had returned to its regular flat, dry tone. “Let’s go and kill some more of them.”

In the darkness of the deep roads he managed to overcome some of his dislike for the archer. He was skilled - far more so than Leliana or Zevran with a bow, deadly accuracy felling enemies before Sigrun or Oghren could even get to them, leaving Anders and Alim free to concentrate on felling groups that were further away, or healing. He was fast with daggers as well, although not quite as skilled at hand to hand as Sigrun or Oghren, and his lockpicking skills were surprisingly good for someone who was a noble. Far better than Zevran’s had been. He wondered how many locked rooms and chests the man had found his way into during the course of his life. Wondered exactly what he’d been up to in the Free Marches. Wondered exactly how well he knew his father.

When they reached the barrier door they were in surprisingly good shape. When the door was shut, finally, Alim had time to think Alistair couldn’t really have picked a better place to house the wardens - their own personal deep roads entrance? He may never have to go back to Orzammar. 

This was, in his opinion, a very good thing.

~~~

When they got back to the locked door in the basement Nathaniel went forward and examined it. “We were never allowed here as children,” he said. “My father never told us why. Adria said there were Avvar spirits. My father said she was a fool.”

“Your father thought a lot of people were fools,” Alim said. “He’s the dead one, however.”

Nathaniel didn’t bother to look at him, but Anders frowned. A few moments later, the lock snicked open and Nathaniel stood upright. “Adria wasn’t a fool,” he said softly. “I’d be on your guard if I were you.”

A few seconds later, Alim had to acknowledge that the woman had been right. Avvar spirits, demons inhabiting corpses - he’d dealt with it all before, but these were particularly tough specimens and it took a lot of effort to put them down. In the end he shouted at the others to run back into the basement and called down a firestorm, racing back up the stairs and taking a crossbow bolt in the shoulder as he lunged for the door. Oghren’s strong hands pulled him the rest of the way through and he collapsed as Nathaniel and Sigrun slammed it shut behind him, the scattering of thunks against the wood telling him the animated corpses were still firing, despite being rapidly reduced to cinders by his spell. He was out of mana… _not that that’s a problem any more…_ and exhausted and leaned heavily on the dwarf as they moved away from the door, which was beginning to become hot to the touch.

“Anders?” he gasped out. The healer stepped forward and gently helped Oghren lower him to the ground. 

“Where was your shield?” Anders asked softly, as his long fingers examined the wound, forcing a sharp hiss of pain from his lips as they probed to see how deep it went.

“Used the last of my mana to cast the firestorm,” Alim said through gritted teeth.

“Well, I begin to see the logic behind the heavier robes,” Anders’ tone was light, belying the strength in his fingers as he gripped the bolt. Alim braced himself, and the older man yanked _hard,_ pulling the bolt from the wound and covering it with his other hand, calling forth healing as he did so. Alim felt the skin knitting back together and sighed as the pain leaked away.

“Are we getting older or are walking corpses getting harder to kill?” Oghren said, fingering the head of his axe.

“We’re getting older,” Alim said, getting to his feet. _“And_ they’re getting harder to kill.” Oghren laughed. Sigrun was about to open the door again, but Alim caught her arm. “We won’t be able to go back in there for a while,” he said. “There won’t be enough air, and the heat from the firestorm will still be enough to hurt. Best we go back later.”

“Wouldn’t be much point any way,” Anders said. “If Rendon Howe was keeping anything safe down there, it’s ash and cinders by now.”

“There was another room,” Nathaniel said softly. “Did you not see? And those stone sarcophagi might have things inside - stone does not burn.”

“Curious to see what your father didn’t want you to?” Alim said, slightly teasing.

Nathaniel met his gaze squarely. “Yes,” he said simply. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Alim pursed his lips and shrugged. “I suppose so,” he said. “Although I’m not one to obsessively open locked doors. Sometimes they’re locked for a reason.”

Anders snorted. “Never a good reason, in my experience.”

“Get some rest, everyone,” Alim said. “We’ll come back down tomorrow.”


	15. Sometimes I miss the circle

“He was _married?”_ Alim resisted the urge to groan. The letter had arrived that morning and Varel had woken him to let him know the contents. “Maker’s Breath - I wanted to deal with the caravans…”

“Perhaps you could manage a trip to the Blackmarsh first, Commander? Truly we need to know more about these darkspawn. And there are no caravans traveling along the route any longer, not after the last attacks.”

“We need those supplies,” Alim said, resting his head in one hand. The woman - her name was Aura - wrote eloquently, all but pleading for news of her husband. Still, the Blackmarsh was not far, and it was possible… “Maker damn it all, Varel, nothing is ever _simple.”_ If they had more wardens, he could send some to the Wending Wood at the same time, but as it was he wasn’t going anywhere without all of them at his back, not at the moment.

“Indeed not, Commander,” Varel said with a small smile. “Which is it, ser?”

“We’ll go to the blighted Blackmarsh,” he said, throwing down the letter and letting a snort of disgust escape him. “Money is only money after all. It’s not as though it _does_ anything useful, like… I don’t know, feeding us or making armour or anything. Send a letter to Alistair, ask him for a cash advance.”

“The King is unlikely to have the coin to spare…”

“I’m well aware of that, Varel. But it won’t hurt to let him know we’re in need.”

“As you say, Commander.”

They were on the road in under two hours.

“There’s an awful lot of walking involved in this job,” Anders said.

“You’re more used to running, I take it?” Alim said.

“Ha bloody ha. That was _actually_ a roundabout way of saying thank you for my new boots.”

“Like them now, do you?”

“I think they’re rather dashing, don’t you?”

“If this is a way to make me admire your legs, don’t bother. You’re outshone there and you know it.”

“Are they always like this?” Nathaniel asked Oghren. The dwarf and the noble had reached an accommodation of sorts, and Alim was grateful. 

“You should have been with us during the Blight,” Oghren said, chuckling. “Him and the pike-twirler were ten times worse.”

“Pike twirler?”

“He means King Alistair,” Alim said. “Oghren insists he used to spend hours practicing pike twirling when we were at camp. I personally never witnessed it.”

“Not for want of trying, hur hur…”

“Please tell me you don’t mean what I think you mean,” Anders said.

“Pike twirling’s very difficult,” Sigrun piped up. “He would have needed to practice, if he really wanted to do it well.”

Alim blinked.

“You’re a _duster_ girl,” Oghren said, his voice incredulous. “Don’t tell me you’ve never…”

“Oh… you were using _innuendo_ were you?” Sigrun’s voice was so bright and innocent that Alim could barely repress a chuckle. “I’ve heard about that. We couldn’t afford it in dust town.”

“By the tits of the ancestors, woman, you don’t have to _pay_ to use innuendo…”

“Don’t you? I thought it was just fancy talk for nobles and warrior castes…”

“Oghren, she’s pulling your beard,” Anders said, laughing. Alim grinned. It was good to be on the road. Good to be surrounded by people he liked and trusted. Good to have a _purpose._

When they reached the Blackmarsh, it was dark. 

“Great,” Anders said. “Deep dark forest. Howling wolves. And don’t tell me you can’t feel the tears in the veil. Why are we here again?”

“To find a brother warden, Anders,” Alim said. 

“I’m scared,” Anders said. “Hold me?”

“Don’t make offers you don’t want to fulfill,” Alim said. 

“Who says I don’t want to fulfill it?”

“If you’re that keen for sex, I’m sure Oghren will oblige.”

“Are you _rejecting_ me Commander?”

“Maker’s breath, Anders, shut up!”

“Elf-lips spent the last two years sleeping with an _assassin,_ Sparklefingers,” Oghren said. “And don’t look at me like that, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten day dead nug.”

“Sometimes I miss the circle,” Anders sighed.

“There are darkspawn about,” Alim said as they started forward. “Can you others sense them yet?”

Anders nodded, as did Oghren, but Sigrun and Nathaniel shook their heads. That was to be expected - it had taken him a few weeks to recognise what the feeling was. “Keep working on it,” he told the two rogues. “It’s a necessary skill.”

Werewolves. Blight wolves. Sylvans. Darkspawn. 

“Is the surface always this dangerous?” Sigrun asked, as the last of the Childer grubs fell to her blades. “No wonder we live underground next to the darkspawn!”

“In a volcano, no less,” Anders pointed out. “Much, _much_ safer than this.”

“At least the plants don’t attack us.”

“That’s because there aren’t any.”

The body lay in a sad crumpled heap. Alim knew before he’d taken a step towards it that it was Kristoff, knew he was dead, and he’d have to explain it to a grieving wife when he got back to the keep. _Any chance the darkspawn could kill me first?_ It wasn’t a duty he was looking forward to. “Anders,” he waved the other mage over as he knelt by the corpse. “Tell me I’m right and we couldn’t have got here fast enough to save him. Please.”

Anders knelt by the corpse, examining it without touching. “Rest easy, Commander,” he said. “This man’s been dead at least a two weeks. It’s cold here, and he’s away from the damp, that’s why he looks fresh.”

“Even if we’d come straight here….”

Anders shook his head. “We had to find out where he _was_ first, Commander,” he said. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

He felt them then, the spawn. At least twenty, surrounding them. Anders must have felt the same; he frowned and looked behind him. 

One of the talking ones was here. Alim stood, slowly, wondering if this one would bother to say anything. He unslung Wintersbreath, ready to kill it, but didn’t cast, not yet. 

“Yes, that is your grey warden,” the thing lisped uncertainly. “The mother told it to me, that if he was lured here and slain, in time you would come. And the mother, she was right. The mother is always right.”

Alim tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. “You wanted me to come to ambush me I suppose?”

“Ah, ambush. An attack yes? This here, it is no attack. I, here before you, is the First. And I am bringing to you a message. The mother, she is not permitting you to further _his_ plans. Whether this you know or not. So she is sending you a gift.”

He didn’t have time to ask who the mysterious _he_ was, before the darkspawn lifted its paw and Alim felt the veil tear around him. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut against the rip in his reality, as the forest and night around them faded.

A moment later, he was picking himself up from the familiar cracked and brown ground of the fade. “By a nug’s cock,” he muttered. “I hate the sodding fade.”

“You and me both,” Anders said. 

“The fade?” Oghren’s voice was incredulous. “This is the _fade?”_

“Um… talk later, Oghren!” Sigrun said. “Looks like we’ve got company!”

The darkspawn had been sucked through with them. Funny that, with all his ranting, he’d failed to realise that a veil tear was not the most precise of ways to get rid of an enemy. This Mother was probably as irritated by his speech patterns as Alim was. 

They killed the darkspawn and the grubs, but the talking one - the First - ran off before he could finish him. Alim sighed and slung his staff back on his back, pinching the bridge of his nose, fighting against the pervading headache that always started whenever he visited the fade.

“Um… first time you’ve been here since the blood magic thing?” Anders said softly beside him. Alim opened his eyes and looked at his fellow mage, questioning.

“What do you mean?”

“You’d better be very careful,” Anders said, nodding towards a group of shades and a rage demon. 

Alim groaned.

~~~

They fought their way through the fade. Alim had to admit it was nice to have company this time around - when he’d been in the fade in Ferelden he’d been on the verge of crazy with no one to talk to but Niall and people who were determined to teach him how to shapeshift. And demons. There didn’t _seem_ to be more demons than usual, though, despite Anders’ mutterings about blood mages. 

When they finally made their way into the ghostly village, Oghren had calmed down enough to be useful in a fight again and Alim was beginning to forget what the real world was like. When it turned out a fade spirit was helping the villagers, however, he was intrigued. 

“A spirit?” the guard who told them was almost certainly a little crazy - no one could be stuck here for that long and remain sane. “Are you certain it’s not a demon?”

He looked momentarily confused. “I… I don’t think so. He claims to want to help us, and he has asked for nothing in return…”

“You couldn’t give a demon anything, in any case,” Anders said. “There’d be no point. We on the other hand…”

“You think it _is_ a demon, Anders?”

“I’ve never heard of a spirit voluntarily helping someone before,” Anders shrugged.

Alim frowned, “I have,” he said. “It’s worth checking out, in any case.”

“He’s at the gates,” the guard said. “He wants us to storm the baroness - kill her.”

 _“Can_ she be killed?” Nathaniel asked.

“Everything can be killed,” Alim said, shifting Wintersbreath on his back. “At least in my experience. And I’ve killed a lot of things. Let’s go meet this spirit.”

~~~

“You’re the spirit of _Justice?”_ Alim eyed the glowing figure speculatively. He remembered his harrowing, the spirit of Valour who he had been forced to fight, and wondered, not for the first time, if spirits such as this could bestow the kind of power he’d been using himself since healing Anders in the deep roads. Wynne’s spirit had only ever been used for healing, but if he could convince one to bolster his offensive spells the inherent danger in blood magic could be offset a little.

Unless spirits didn’t care for blood the same way demons did. 

Any other time he would sit the man (he couldn’t help thinking of it as a man, the armour and the deep booming voice were a bit too overwhelming) down and have a long discussion. As it was they had a crazed blood mage to defeat and a talking darkspawn to kill.

“Right, then,” Alim said. “Let’s do this.”

The baroness sundered the veil once more using the First’s life force to send them all back into the real world. Alim was thankful this time they didn’t wake up to battle, but as he clambered to his feet he could immediately sense there was something not right in the small clearing.

It became obvious almost immediately, when Kristoff’s body started to stir. He readied his weapon, expecting possession - perhaps the Baroness had taken this body?

It wasn’t the Baroness.

“No. No, this cannot be!” the voice that emerged from the ruined throat had elements of the voice Alim had heard in the fade, but it had its differences. That he could speak at all amazed him. Surprisingly, Anders was the one who managed to get the spirit to calm enough to talk to them. “We must find the baroness and kill her,” the spirit said, finally.

“You mean she came through as well?” Sigrun said. “What, can people just _do_ that?”

“Not usually,” Alim muttered. “But we’d better find her and kill her. I suppose.”

“She is a demon of Pride now,” the spirit said.

“Great. My favourite kind.” He rubbed the back of his head and surveyed his troops. They were filthy, grumpy and tired. Even Anders’ usually impeccably clean robes were covered in muck and blood. “Let’s go kill it,” he said.


	16. Apathy is a weakness!

“So… what do spirits do in the fade all day?” Anders hadn’t really left off badgering the spirit since they killed the Baronness. Alim wondered how long Justice would put up with it. Certainly the first few times Anders had started asking questions he had been shut down pretty quickly, but Justice didn’t seem to know how to handle the man, who was relentless in his curiosity.

Justice heaved a sigh. They were a day away from Amaranthine. Alim needed to stop there to see the Dark Wolf, Anders was still keen to meet whoever it was they’d managed to miss on their first visit and Nathaniel had apparently had word that his sister had survived the Blight and was married. Sigrun was starry eyed at the thought of visiting a human town and Oghren… 

Well Oghren he suspected _wanted_ to get drunk. Alim was going to have words with him about it.

“Time is not as… harsh in the fade as it is here, mage,” the fade spirit was saying. It had taken a lot of ingenuity and some fairly creative herbalism to find a way for Kristoff’s body to be less… repugnant, but every now and then Alim would remember that he used to be a human being and shudder. Not to mention that his healing sense went completely haywire whenever Justice was “injured”. Anders and he had spent a great deal of time…. working things out, as it were. Alim had ordered the spirit to keep his helm on in the city, though. There was no reason to alarm the populace with their walking corpse recruit. “When you say ‘all day’ I have difficulty applying it to the way time passes in the fade. I observed. I acted, when I could. In between, I simply was.”

“But demons don’t just sit around, do they? They’re constantly looking for ways to get across the veil…”

“I know little of demons,” Justice said.

 _That’s surprisingly reassuring,_ Alim thought, rubbing his hand where he had cut it. He knew he had made contact with a demon when he’d healed Anders in the deep roads, but the contact had been fleeting and Alim hadn’t been game to try it again. The book had explicitly warned against using blood magic the way he had been forced to. The rituals and sigils for an initial casting were meant to protect you against the most desperate and needy demons - the ones who were most likely to attempt to possess you should you contact them. 

Alim had forged a link with the first demon handy. It was almost certainly going to come back to bite him later.

“You must know _something_ about them. They lived with you. They were your neighbours.”

“Anders, give it a rest, will you?” Alim said. “Justice is probably tired of all your questions.”

“I do not get tired,” Justice interjected. 

Alim rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to help you here, Justice,” he said. “You don’t have to answer Anders’ questions if you don’t want to.”

“The mage raises interesting points,” Justice said. “But I would be grateful for silence for a time.”

Anders pouted at Alim, but was good natured enough to let that slide. 

At camp that night the tables were turned somewhat. Justice started pestering Alim _and_ Anders about mages in general. How did they live, what did they do… it was as though he couldn’t get _enough_ of the world now that he was in it. When Anders started describing the Tower, however, Alim sat back in shock.

He had always loved the Tower. Or at least, enjoyed his time there. It had never really hit home to him that he couldn’t leave, because truly, where would he go? Templars were a fact of life - a nuisance to be avoided. In the meantime there were books and spells and clean beds and ample food, things he knew he would never have had in the Alienage. There were _other_ freedoms, too, that would have been denied him. Destined for an arranged marriage at eighteen to whatever elven woman his parents picked out for him, Alim would never have been allowed to explore certain sides to his nature and almost certainly would have ended up miserable as a result, even if he hadn’t shown signs of magic.

 _Possibly not more miserable than I am now though,_ he thought, suddenly thinking of Zevran. Then he shuddered. The thought of living an Alienage life - married with children and all the trappings therein was less than appealing. _At least we had our time together,_ he thought. Then wondered at himself. It was the first time he’d thought of Zevran without raging pain. The ache was still there, but there was something else…

For Anders it was different. He’d been taken much older (it shocked Alim to realise that he’d only arrived at the tower a few _weeks_ after him - he’d always assumed the older man had been there for _years)_ and he had a home, a _family_ that he knew and cared about and… 

Alim knew he should have stopped Anders from telling Justice all of this. In the back of his mind warning bells were going off. This was a _spirit_ he didn’t _understand._ Even with Nate and Sigrun and Oghren asleep, even though there was just the three of them, keeping Justice company before his long and lonely watch (it was a blessing, having a corpse who couldn’t sleep in their company, Alim didn’t remember the last time he’d been able to stay asleep _all night_ when on the move) it still seemed too personal. He almost got up and left, but part of him was too fascinated by the story, so different from his own.

Of course Anders didn’t give _details,_ but Alim could fill in some blanks. _That_ was why Anders’ first escape attempt happened just after the mass transfer to Kirkwall. _This_ was why Ser William had met that unfortunate _accident_ after Satanalia that one year. 

“Maker’s breath, Anders,” Alim said when the mage had fallen silent finally, staring into the fire with darkened eyes. “You really got the short end of the stick, didn’t you?”

The older mage fixed him with a quizzical glare. “You were always the charmed child,” he said finally. “Me, I had to make my own luck. And I had my fair share of that, let me tell you. I didn’t do that to Ser William because he managed to get at _me_ after all.”

“If Greagior had found out about that, you’d be tranquil,” Alim pointed out. 

“He never found out.”

Justice was watching the two of them. It was hard to judge expression on that rotting face, but the voice was outraged. “This is _not right,”_ the spirit said. “You have both faced injustice, and are now free. Why do you do nothing for your fellow mages?”

Anders looked scandalised. “Because it sounds difficult?”

“You have a duty!”

Alim and Anders looked at each other. Alim shrugged and Anders bit his lip, looking slightly troubled.

“Where do you suppose we should start, Justice?” Alim said. “Truly? The Chantry controls the Templars, and the circles. The only place mages are even vaguely free is in Tevinter and it’s…. not particularly nice there, from what I’ve heard.”

“You must strike a blow against your oppressors.”

“Just the one?” Anders said, smirking. Alim laughed a little.

“I have enough to do, Justice,” Alim said. “Darkspawn and all that,” he poked at the fire, but Anders was watching the former fade spirit, thoughtfully.

“What about you…. Anders?” Justice said. “You don’t have the responsibilities of the Commander. You could help your fellows overcome their oppression.”

“Or I could bide my time in case the Templars come knocking.”

“Apathy is a weakness!”

“So is death! I’m just saying!”

Alim held up his hands. “Much as the plight of mages in Thedas is dear to my heart, gentlemen, we have a lot of walking to do tomorrow and Anders and I should sleep.”

Justice looked about to argue again, but Alim got up and moved to his tent. Anders shrugged and did the same, although Alim noticed the man looked more thoughtful than usual. 

 _Maker’s breath, I probably should have thought this whole fade-spirit as a warden thing through a bit more,_ he thought as he settled down to sleep. _Still. He’s good in a fight, and kind of… sweet in his way._ He smiled to himself, thinking of Justice’s indignant words. It was nice, to think that someone who embodied a virtue thought Alim was _in the right._

He rubbed his hand where it was scarred and rolled onto his side to sleep.


	17. At least he doesn't get tired

Amaranthine had been described by someone at the palace as “the jewel of the north”. Alim privately thought whoever had said that hadn’t seen many jewels. It was a nice enough city, he supposed, cleaner by far than Denerim, defensible, functional… but he didn’t like the way the walls managed to cut out nearly all sunlight. There were hardly any trees, and what space was available tended to be full of nervous people.

At least there was no alienage. 

Anders had run off almost as soon as they got in the gates. Alim had assigned Nathaniel to look after Justice, not sure how the spirit would react to him meeting with a man who undoubtably used unjust means to gather the information he needed about the conspiracy. Oghren had offered to show Sigrun the sights, and Sigrun had groaned, but agreed, leaving Alim free to conduct his business in relative privacy. 

The Dark Wolf did good work, it seemed, names and associates of the nobles who were plotting against him, as well as a meeting place they could get to easily enough. He paid the man - far, far too much gold, and turned to go back to the inn when he spied Anders leaning against a nearby tree.

“You don’t lurk well,” Alim said shortly.

“It’s the staff, isn’t it?” Anders said. “Catches the light.”

Alim repressed a grin. “No. It’s just _you._ You kind of stand out. No wonder the Templars always found you.”

“Hey, you know why they always found me,” Anders said, frowning. “I wanted to talk to you about that actually.”

“I’m heading back to the inn,” Alim said, motioning for him to join him. “Is this the part where you tell me why you’ve been skulking around Amaranthine every time we come here?”

“I suppose it is,” Anders said. “I was meeting a… friend.”

Alim’s eyebrows raised. “A friend, or a _friend?”_

“Both. Probably. Maybe not any more. I don’t know, who keeps track of these things?” Alim looked at him. “Any way, she’s the reason I was in Amaranthine when they caught me.”

“A _real_ friend if you were willing to risk capture for her,” Alim said, slightly surprised. Anders looked guilty. 

“Well, I wasn’t willing to risk capture for _her_ as such… gah, this is beside the point. Namaya agreed to track down my phylactery for me. She says it’s _here_ in Amaranthine.”

Alim stopped. “Here?”

Anders nodded. “In a warehouse, near the west gate. If we go there there’s a chance I could destroy it.”

“Just your phylactery?” Alim asked. 

“There’s more than just mine, but mine is the only one I know for certain is with them.”

“You’re a warden now, Anders. You don’t need to worry about the Chantry any more.” He snorted. Alim frowned, puzzled. “Truly, it’s the law. I conscripted you, you belong with us now. The Chantry can’t touch you.”

“You might be safe,” Anders said. “Hero of Ferelden, recruited from the Tower - you’re _legitimate._ I’m an escapee. An apostate. They didn’t _want_ to lose me, Commander. They’ll want me back.”

“Well, they’re not allowed to have you back,” Alim said patiently. 

Anders still looked skeptical. “I’d feel better if I knew they couldn’t find me,” he said.

“I’ve got no objection to smashing phylacteries, Anders. But I don’t think we should go alone.”

“Agreed. They’ll be guarded, I’ve no doubt. And two mages against Templars never works out well.”

Alim remembered the flash of the blade as Jowan cut his hand and quirked an eyebrow. He hadn’t looked back at the book, since healing Anders, but he thought it was entirely possible that a blood mage against two Templars would be working from an advantage. His hands twitched and he turned his head sharply. “Did you hear that?” he said.

“What?” Anders said.

Alim clenched his hand and shook his head. “Nothing.”

O~O~O

_The campfire was low, Alim tended it, wondering how much colder it could get. He still didn’t get weather. How could the sun be shining yet giving off less heat? It didn’t make sense. He liked it when things made sense._

_His eyes were constantly drawn to where Alistair and Zevran were sparring. The former Templar was hopeless against rogue attacks, had been blindsided three times in the past week, making Wynne dangerously exhausted to the point where Alim had to step in to heal the last dagger thrust. Alistair had gasped and writhed at the pain of it, and Alim had snapped. “If you’re going to insist on being stabbed so often, you need more practice. Pair up with Zev and learn to defend against it, for the love of the maker.”_

_“Why not Leliana?” Alistair had said, frowning at the Antivan, who was giving Alistair a lascivious grin._

_“Leliana likes you too much,” Alim said. “She’ll let you win.”_

_“I wouldn’t,” Leliana said mildly, from where she sat polishing her bow._

_Alim shrugged. “Sorry, Lel, but Zev’s better with his daggers.”_

_Leliana had smiled, eyeing Zevran with a light of interest that made Alim’s inside’s squirm with jealousy._

_And now the two men were involved in a complex dance of blades that Alim felt guilty for enjoying so much. Stripped to the waist, both men were beautiful examples of the male form, and Alim could hardly tear his gaze away._

_“Such a deep, deep pool of need in you,” the voice was soft, at the edge of hearing. Alim frowned, suddenly wrong footed. He knew the voice. It was someone very dear. Someone he should remember… “Did you know that regret is a form of desire?” it continued. “Some would say it was the most powerful.”_

_Alistair and Zevran seemed to slow down, the firelight reflecting of the sweat on their bodies. Alim tried to turn his head, but was paralyzed._

_“Who are you?”_

_“My name is Dolore,” the voice responded. “Oh, Commander of the Grey, Alim Surana, we shall have a long and profitable association.”_

“Commander it’s time!”

_“We’ll meet again, Alim Surana.”_

Anders was shaking him. Alim opened his eyes, groggy and confused. He _wasn’t_ a heavy sleeper, he should have woken as soon as the other mage came into his room. Instead, Anders was leaning over his bed, his hand on his arm with Justice… _Justice?_ Standing directly behind him.

He shook his head to clear it and sat up. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to bring the fade spirit _who is the incarnation of Justice_ to break into a warehouse in the middle of the night?”

Anders shrugged. “He said he wanted to come,” he said. “And he’s the spirit of _Justice_ not the spirit of Oppressive and Arbitrary Religious Oversight.”

Alim blinked.

“Anders is right,” Justice said. “He explained to me what the Chantry use these… _phylacteries_ for. It is an injustice. I wish to help destroy them.”

“Fine,” Alim said. He wondered what other little injustices the spirit would pick up on now that he was stuck here. _Maker help us, he’s going to try to right all the wrongs in Thedas._

_…at least he doesn’t get tired._

“Sigrun’s waiting downstairs,” Anders said, grinning. “Shall we?”

Amaranthine’s streets were a little safer since Alim had visited it last and they reached the warehouse without incident. It was significantly unguarded. Anders looked worried, biting his bottom lip. “Perhaps they don’t want to draw attention to it?” he said, but his voice sounded less hopeful and more… resigned.

Alim unslung Wintersbreath. “How well did you know this Namaya woman?”

Anders’ lips twisted into a rueful grimace. “Probably too well,” he said, then sighed. “Come on then, may as well get it over with.”

The Templars were in the back room of the warehouse. Rylock - Alim recognised her - and two others he’d never seen. There were words. Alim found he didn’t care what they were, as they all boiled down to “we have more power than you”. He was used to those words. In this case, they were wrong.

As was demonstrated by Justice putting his sword directly through Rylock’s chest. The armour parted like butter.

The two Templars were too shocked to react, luckily. So Alim killed them with a massive jolt of lightning each. They were dead before Rylock’s body had slipped free of Justice’s sword. Anders was simply standing there, watching. Sigrun was hopping from foot to foot - or at least she was until the snapping and popping of the cooling bodies stopped, then she was down and looting them, like the good duster dwarf she was. 

Alim chewed his lip, looking at Justice. “Two things,” he said finally.

“Excuse me?” Justice said.

Alim held up a finger. “Firstly, I’m your Commander. The command to attack, therefore comes from me. I didn’t tell you to kill that woman.”

“She would have perpetrated an injustice,” the spirit said.

Alim blinked. Anders shrugged. “Much as I’m grateful you think that, the order still needs to be given before you put your sword through someone’s chest. Which brings me to the second thing. _How_ by the Maker’s hairy balls did you do that?”

Justice still had his helm on. It made reading his expressions impossible. “I exist in this realm, but I am still of the fade,” he said. “The normal rules of this physical realm do not apply to me. Or my weapons.”

“Right. Well. That’s good to know.”

Sigrun had finished looting, and she bounced up to Alim with a bulging coin purse and two very fine looking daggers. “There’s some other good gear here,” she said. “And a few locked chests. Want me to unlock them?”

Alim nodded absently. “Please do,” he said.

Justice had evidently decided their discussion was over. Anders, however, was looking at the bodies of the Templars, his face slack with shock. “They always sent Rylock after me,” he said. “Always. Maker that woman had a voice that could cut glass.”

“You’re not going to miss her, are you?”

He looked up at Alim, laughing a little. “In a way, I suppose I am.” He glanced around the room. “No phylacteries,” the apostate said, finally. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have got my hopes up.”

Alim put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Anders, please believe me when I tell you you’re safe.”

“They’re not going to believe this happened by chance, you know,” Anders said. “There are too many dead Templars linked to me now. They won’t let this rest.”

“You didn’t kill them.”

Anders shrugged. “I didn’t kill _them,”_ he said, smiling ruefully.

_….. ah._

“So that little excuse back at the keep?”

Anders’ lips narrowed into a thin line. “They bloody well wouldn’t let me out to help them, can you believe that? It was an emissary’s fire spell that melted my manacles. So what if I didn’t check to see if they were out of my way before I blasted the rest of the darkspawn? I wasn’t going back to solitary. Not if I could help it.”

“Anders, they probably would have died any way.”

“I sodding hope so,” the mage said forcefully. Then he grinned. “This is a little dark for me, though. Shall we get out of here?”

Alim watched him walk out, crossing his arms. Justice and Sigrun were loaded down with equipment and coin. It had been a profitable night in some respects.

He just wished the whispering would stop.


	18. Decided to trust me now, have you?

Mistress Woolsey was yelling at him about the state of the caravans. But the Dark Wolf had specifically told him that the conspirators would be meeting in two days - he simply didn’t have _time_ to get to the Wending Wood and back before then and he couldn’t trust someone else with this, not when he wasn’t entirely certain if he could trust anyone at all. 

So he sat in the throne of the Arl of Denerim and heard court _again_ and wished with all his heart he could be buried back in the deep roads killing broodmothers. Andraste’s arse, when did he start preferring the deep roads to _anything?_

When he shut his eyes, trying to block out the noise and the tedium, he heard things. 

_Mi amore where are you?_

He shook his head and clenched his scarred hand.

When he’d finished with the nobles he made his way back to his rooms and dug the warden book out of his pack again. He wasn’t stupid. The dreams, the whispering, he knew what was happening, and he knew if he wasn’t careful - or even if he was - there was a very real possibility he was in danger of becoming possessed.

The book didn’t even have a title. It was a compendium of notes from mage wardens through the centuries - he wasn’t surprised to see that Avernus had a chapter or two, although they were obviously written a long time before Alim’s meeting with the man. He leafed through it in increasing trepidation, reading a page here, a paragraph there. Some of the chapters were disturbingly fragmented, obviously written by men and women at the limits of their endurance, and Alim shuddered.

The consensus was, though, that he’d gone about things exactly the wrong way. 

He slammed the book shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a knock on the door a few moments later and he took a deep breath before getting up to open it.

“Commander,” Oghren entered, holding a sheaf of papers.

“Since when do they trust you with correspondence?” Alim said, grinning slightly.

“I was coming up to see you anyway,” Oghren said, frowning. “That Woolsey woman made me bring these with me.” He glanced down at them. “Sodding bills from what I can make out. I suggest burning them. You can do that, right? With a little..” he wiggled his fingers.

“Put them on my desk. I suspect I’m going to get into trouble for ignoring them, but I’ll probably get into more for burning them.”

“Huh. Never did manage to get good at accounts. Lucky for me Branka always handled that end of things.”

“So… when we took you from Orzammar…”

“Let’s just say when I go for my Calling I’d probably better go incognito,” Oghren grinned. “Otherwise they’ll try to get me to pay my bar bills before I get killed.”

Alim grinned. “You won’t have to go back to Orzammar if you don’t want to Oghren,” he said, pointing down. “Deep roads entrance right here.”

“You’re sodding right!” Oghren brightened. “Well, every rock has a hidden ore vein after all.” The dwarf looked at his feet for a few minutes.

“What did you want to see me for, Oghren?”

“Oh. I… sod it,” Oghren sighed. “I got a letter from Felsi. She’s coming here.”

“That’s good news. When?”

“She’ll be here in two days,” 

Alim pursed his lips. “I see.”

“I know you’re going to break up that conspiracy… “

Alim shook his head. “You can stay here and keep an eye on Varel,” Alim said.

“Commander… what do I say to her?”

He laughed. “Oghren, you’re asking _me?_ ”

“Well, I’m hardly going to ask the Howe, am I? And if I ask sodding sparklefingers he’ll just… I don’t know… flash his junk at me or something. Were you really friends with him?”

“Some of the time.”

“Huh. Takes all sorts. If you know what I mean.”

Alim stood up and motioned for Oghren to join him by the fire, but the dwarf shook his head. Alim sighed and shook his head as he looked at his friend. “Oghren this is something you’ll have to sort out yourself, you do know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I suppose I only came here because it was either that or get shitfaced… and that’s not going to help anything.”

“I can give you something to help you sleep if you want.”

Oghren shook his head. “Nah. I’ll go for a walk, clear the head, then hit something in the practice yard until I can’t see straight. Just… pick up my pieces and give them to the stone if Fels decides to chop me up, will you?”

“I promise, Oghren.”

The dwarf stood for a moment, looking at him. “You’re a good man, Commander,” Oghren said. “You don’t deserve this shit.”

Alim laughed. “I love you too Oghren.”

~~~

He took Anders, Justice and Nathaniel with him to break up the conspiracy. He trusted Anders, he didn’t think the fade spirit was _able_ to betray him - that wouldn’t be just, would it? - and he didn’t want the Howe out of his sight. He also suspected that if Sigrun was around she might be able to calm Felsi when the inevitable fight happened between her and Oghren. Sigrun groaned pretty much whenever Oghren opened his mouth, but he got the impression she respected the dwarf - a legion member had to make judgements on more than just personality after all.

“Why am I going with you?” Nathaniel asked him as they neared their destination. The holding was less than a day away, but Alim knew enough from Zevran to understand that the earlier they got there the more likely they’d be able to take the conspirators by surprise.

_“Crows stake out their meeting places for three days,” Zevran had said. “There is no limit to their paranoia, caro mio. Most nobles are not so cautious.”_

He had no reason to believe these nobles were any better at intrigue than average. Considering the Dark Wolf had managed to uncover so much about them already, and the general contempt both Zev _and_ Leliana had for Ferelden levels of court intrigue.

_Like children, uomo magico. What can one expect from a country that worships dogs?_

“Frank answer, Ser Howe?” Alim replied. “I don’t trust you yet, and I’d rather have you somewhere I can kill you if you decide to betray me.”

Nathaniel looked at him with one eyebrow raised for a moment, before his lips twitched in what could _almost_ be described in a grin.

“Fair enough, Commander,” he said.

Anders whistled. “You made him _smile_ Commander. Next thing you know he’ll be picking out curtains for your quarters.”

“Shut up, mage,” Nathaniel said mildly.

Anders grinned, but the expression was lost on the archer, who was looking at the ground with a distracted expression.

“What is it, Nathaniel?” he asked.

“You said the meeting wasn’t meant to take place until tomorrow, correct?”

Alim nodded.

The archer moved ahead a few paces and crouched down, examining the earth ahead of them. It was moist and fragrant, in this part of the Arling. Rain had fallen the night before. “Well, there are fresh booted tracks here, Commander,” he said. “And the boots are definitely better quality than your average Amaranthine farmer’s.”

Alim found his hand had moved to grip Wintersbreath instinctively. “So… you’re saying they’re already here?”

Nathaniel nodded. “Staking out the meeting place, I’d guess,” he said. Alim nodded. “It’s what I’d do.”

“It’s what the Crows do,” Alim said softly.

“Sorry, Commander?”

“Nothing.”

They’d stopped in the middle of the road. It was nearing midday, the autumn sun barely managing to warm them any longer. “Any chance they’d be this far away from the steading?” Alim asked. He was suddenly very, _very_ interested in finding out what was at the farm.

“I doubt it,” Nathaniel said, standing up and narrowing his eyes. “We’re at least two hours away. Unless they have an army up there they’d have to spread their people too thinly to cover the road this far.”

Anders was looking a little apprehensive. “How do we know they _don’t_ have an army up there?” he said.

“If it’s a trap we need to find out,” Alim said. “Nathaniel can you scout ahead without being seen?”

“Decided to trust me now, have you?”

Alim grinned, then shrugged. “I’m going to assume it’s a trap even if you tell me it isn’t,” he said.

“What does _that_ accomplish?” Anders squeaked.

“It means we’ll all die,” he glanced at Justice, who’s helm was off. For some reason his blank look made Alim shudder. “Insofar as we can, any way. But I’ll make damned sure Nathaniel will die first.”

Anders rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I should have let Rylock take me,” he muttered. 

Nathaniel grinned, then headed off, blending into the landscape so effectively that he was out of sight within moments. 

“What do we do now Commander?” Justice said.

“We wait,” he replied, moving to the side of the road to set up a rough camp. The others followed, Anders muttering about Templars and Wardens, Justice calmly taking up a watch position without being asked. Alim took a deep breath, trying to control a sudden surge of hope.

 _If they’re Crows,_ he thought, watching Anders manipulating a log to sit on and chafing his hands against the chill, _so help me Andraste, we’ll take one of them alive._


	19. Commoners have long memories

It was nearly dark when Nathaniel returned. Anders and Justice were chatting quietly about something demon related, _again_ and Alim was polishing Wintersbreath. He boiled with impatience, not only because of who or _what_ might be at the farm.

The soft booted tread of the assassin alerted him - he knew the man could move silently when he wished. He turned to see Nathaniel, no weapons drawn, thank the Maker.

Alim still wasn’t certain if the Howe still wanted him dead. He still wasn’t certain if _he_ wanted the Howe dead.

Yet, there was no denying he was useful. Now it was time to see if he was also trustworthy. “What did you discover?”

Nathaniel hunkered down, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “There are four sentries,” he said. Alim waved Anders and Justice over, thinking suddenly that a circle mage and a fade spirit probably hadn’t ever taken lessons in strategy. Justice’s method in the fade had certainly consisted of “kick down the door, get attacked” as opposed to a considered tactical approach.

He remembered hasty conversations with Duncan on the way to Ostagar - rememberd Cailan’s blissful ignorance and Loghain’s obvious disapproval. _Alistair_ had been surprisingly good at tactics in the end, although Teagan and Eamon…

He shook his head to clear it, remembering the crazed face of Cullen in the dungeons of the palace… Zevran bleeding in his arms as he desperately tried to heal him... Thinking about Eamon was never a good thing for him. 

 _Strange that you turned to blood magic to help Anders and not him…_ the voice was insidious and Alim took a shaky breath.

 _I didn’t have the book then,_ he thought furiously. And he’d had more confidence in Zevran’s ability to come out of it. Anders had seemed… far more in danger of death.

 _Can you be certain of that? Or did you just_ want _to do what you did?_

Telling himself to shut up would almost certainly be the first sign of madness.

“So,” Alim said. “Any chance we can get past them without being seen?”

Nathaniel shook his head, picking up a stick and drawing in the dirt. “The farm is surprisingly easy to defend,” he said. “Makes you wonder how many commoners make their steadings with attack in mind.”

“From the darkspawn,” Justice boomed.

“There hasn’t been a blight in five hundred years, Justice,” Alim said.

“Commoners have long memories,” Anders said softly. “You build your farm the way your parents did, and theirs before them.” Alim cocked an eyebrow at the mage. 

“Really?”

Anders nodded, then looked at Alim quizzically. “What? My parents were farmers.”

“And here I thought you’d sprung fully formed and snarky from the earth, Anders.”

The mage snorted. 

Nathaniel ignored their exchange and pointed to several points on the crude map he’d created in the dirt. “Sentries here, here, here and here,” he said. 

Alim cocked his head on one side. “If we split up we can probably kill them at the same time,” he says. 

“That sort of timing is difficult, Commander,” Nathaniel says. 

“I can help with that,” Anders said. Alim looked at him. “Remember the time in the Tower when Maggie and I did the trick with the steps and the ice?”

Alim laughed suddenly. “I always wondered how you managed to pull that off.”

Anders grinned. Nathaniel looked puzzled. “Slow release spell,” Anders said. “Anything you like. Electricity, nature, fire or ice. I’ll set it to go off after a certain amount of time. When everyone feels it…” he made a stabbing motion with his hand.

“Creative,” Nathaniel said.

“We’ll have to wait until the conspirators are meeting,” Alim said.

“Sundown tomorrow,” Nathaniel said. “May as well stay camped here for the night then.”

Alim clenched his fist. More time. Always more sodding _time._

“Fine,” he said.

 

Being still had never been his strong point. He was a fidgety child in the Tower, always getting into trouble for tapping things on his desk when he should have been listening. Zevran had despaired of ever teaching him to be stealthy. Alim had laughed at him and asked why he’d ever need to.

…It turned out he needed to in order to kill crow sentries.

Luckily for him (and for Anders as well, he suspected) they didn’t need to be close to their targets in order to kill them. Nathaniel had delivered them all to the locations he deemed best. Anders had primed them all with the timed spell, although Justice had been highly suspicious of it. When he felt the tingle of lightning on his neck, he paralyzed the sentry and started to run, drawing his dagger, ready to slit the man’s throat.

The limp body sank into the grass and Alim felt the tingle of magic in the blood that dripped down. He reached out a hand, almost tempted, _almost_ to take the extra boost of power he could… but he pulled back his hand and shook his head, getting to his feet and hefting Wintersbreath. They weren’t finished yet.

The fight was brutal and confusing. With the sentries down, the conspirators were easily picked off - noblemen and women who carried weapons but were not used to using them. _Where were you when the horde attacked Denerim?_ Alim couldn’t help thinking as he and Anders used a combination of spells to slaughter them. _Sitting in your estates with your servants, no doubt. Waiting for the horde to come and slaughter you._

He laughed as they died.

The crows, and there was no doubt that they were crows - they even _moved_ like Zevran and he felt it catch at his chest as one of them spun with twin daggers - were much harder to kill. 

He was distracted, that was why he was caught, that’s what he told himself. It wasn’t because it was suddenly all too hard, it wasn’t because part of him just wanted to surrender to the inevitable, and being killed by a crow would be part of the way towards letting a certain Antivan know how very, very angry he was… 

“Stop!” the man’s voice cut through the battle noises and magic and the two remaining crows stopped immediately, confusing Justice, who was suddenly faced with an opponent who was no longer fighting. _That_ crow lived, by virtue of the spirit’s sense of what was right, no doubt, although he was kneeling with the point of the spirit’s sword pressed into the hollow of his throat… 

The one fighting Nathaniel _didn’t_ live, and his gurgling cries as his throat were cut were suddenly the only sound in the cooling air. 

The cool tip of a knife was pressed to Alim’s throat. He was slightly surprised at how little fear he felt.

“Now, my friends,” the crow said, and Alim was disappointed to note that his accent was straight Ferelden.

“Are you insane?” Anders said. “Everyone else is dead! Do you think you’ll survive if you kill him?”

“You assume survival is a requirement of this mission,” the crow said, and Alim’s heart ached anew. 

“You weren’t meeting here to kill me,” he said calmly. “You didn’t know we were coming. You were meeting here to discuss terms. And payment.”

“Shut up,” the crow said. Alim allowed himself a smile.

“Do not be foolish, mortal,” Justice said. “You throw your life away needlessly.”

“I said shut up, or I will slice him in _half.”_

“Do that and you’ll be dead before he hits the ground,” Nathaniel’s voice was cold and gravelly, and Alim found it surprisingly reassuring. 

“And yet my mission will be fulfilled,” the crow said.

“You can go back to your master and tell him we killed your employers,” Alim said. “There is no payment to be had here, Ser Crow. You know that.”

“It’s too late,” the man hissed. “The contracts have been signed. If I go back now I will die.”

“Then don’t go back,” Alim said. “There’s no reason you need to stay with the Crows.”

“They always find you,” the Crow said.

 _Maker…_ “Not always,” Alim whispered. _Please let that be true._

The knife point pierced his skin, and the man chuckled. “They’ll catch him, you know,” he said, and Alim’s heart leapt. “If they haven’t already. You’re being foolish if you think otherwise.”

_He’s free. He’s free and not dead and…_

_…still not here with me._

Alim caught Nathaniel’s eyes. The rogue’s hand was hovering around his midsection and Alim knew precisely what that meant. He wondered if the man was as good as he claimed. “If you’re so keen to die,” he said to the crow holding him, “do it.”

Nate threw the dagger with deadly aim. Alim felt the splatter of blood - _power that whispered to him -_ on his cheek as the grip on his neck loosened and the crow fell to the ground, dead, with Nate’s dagger lodged in his eye. Alim nodded at Justice, who was still covering the remaining crow. "Restrain him and bring him with us," he said. "We'll need evidence of this for the King." Justice nodded and forced the man to his feet.

Conspiracy foiled.


	20. I'm no help to anyone

When they reached the Keep Oghren was in a funk.

“His wife came,” Sigrun told him. “And then she left. Pretty quickly. He wouldn’t come out of his room, until yesterday, when he burst out and went to the kitchens. He’s um… been drinking ever since, Commander.”

Alim swore. He should have been here, for his friend. He might have been able to mitigate…

When he walked into the kitchen Oghren raised his head from the table and fixed him with bleary eyes. 

“Hey! Hey I gotta thank you for saving my hide today. There was that guy and he was all ggrrrr and I was hurrr but then I got hit by an arrow…and then I fell over and it was… meep, but you were there and you were all…. RAAAWRRR…”

“Oghren that was last week.”

The dwarf’s green eyes clouded suddenly, and Alim swallowed. “Yeah. Well. Thanks for that any way,” he said. “Have a sodding drink, Alim. Don’t leave me here.”

Alim sat opposite the dwarf and allowed a tankard of something to be pushed in front of him. 

“What happened?”

“I fucked up.”

Alim sighed. “This isn’t going to help,” he said.

“It _is_ sodding helping, it always sodding _helps._ For a while. Then…” the dwarf deflated, letting his head drop forward. There was a pause, where all Alim could hear was the dwarf’s heavy breathing. The room reeked of drink and other smells Alim didn’t rightly want to identify, all too familiar from his time with the dwarf after Branka’s death. 

Oghren had struck the blow that killed her himself. Alim didn’t know if that made things worse or better.

“I know,” Oghren lifted his head and fixed Alim with eyes that were surprisingly clear. “I know it doesn’t.”

Alim took a deep pull of his own ale and contemplated his friend. “What do you need me to do, Oghren?”

The dwarf chewed on the end of his beard. “Just… nothing, Commander. Nothing at all. I’ll be fighting again tomorrow. I promise. Not the first time I’ve swung my axe drunk. Or hungover. You know that.”

Alim shook his head. “I wish there was something else…”

The dwarf let out a bitter laugh. “You’ve done enough for me. Don’t get dragged further in.”

Two hours later Alim made his way, somewhat unsteadily, out into the courtyard. It was raining again. Alim tilted his head up to catch water on his too-hot face, sighing and wishing things could be simple.

_You could help him._

**Shut up.**

_The woman would happily bring her child here and do what he said, under your influence._

**It wouldn’t be the same.**

_The dwarf need not know that._

**Go away.**

He walked. Not thinking where, using his modified forcefield to keep the worst of the rain from him. He wasn’t entirely certain where he was going, but an insistent mewling caught his attention when he was close to the gates and he looked down to find a wet, bedraggled, ginger kitten standing in his path. Alim frowned at it for a long moment, blinking. The kitten, suddenly encompassed by his rain-repulsing spell, mewled again and looked up at him, green eyes hopeful.

“I’m no help to anyone, you,” Alim said. “You’d be better off burrowing into the deep roads. Perhaps you could find a nice genlock to keep you warm at nights.”

The green eyes blinked. A tiny pink tongue reached out to catch some rainwater from its sodden fur. Alim pursed his lips.

Without really thinking what he was doing, he scooped the animal up and settled him into his robes. The wet fur tickled his chest, and he channeled a small amount of fire magic to dry the poor animal out.

The pathetic mewling turned into a rumbling purr almost immediately.

_Your defenses are low right now. It is curious._

Alim made his way to his quarters, feeling slightly less muzzy headed. He sat on the edge of his bed and started to remove his boots. There was an Antivan Crow in the dungeons and he wanted to be sober and rested before he attempted to interrogate the man, not to mention the fact that if he didn’t travel to the Wending Wood tomorrow Woolsey would have apoplexy.

_Why did you make the deal if you did not intend to reap benefits from it, elf?_

**Because Anders would have died.**

_Death comes to us all._

Alim felt weariness pricking his eyelids. He was drunk, and too tired for this, and he could feel the demon prodding at the edges of his consciousness like a spider, poking, always poking for some way in.

_The prisoner. You can make him talk. Honestly._

Alim froze.

_The spells are in the book. You know. You’ve read it. I can provide the power. All it takes is blood._

The leather of his boot under his fingers was suddenly too rough. He remembered leather that was smoother, so much closer to the feel of skin.

And then he remembered the feel of skin. The black whorls of tattoos. The heat of a soft mouth, the glide of lips and hands. A strangled moan escaped him before he clamped down on his tongue, hard enough to draw blood. 

That was a mistake.

It sang to him. The lure of power so intense he nearly swooned. 

 _It doesn’t even need to be_ ** _your_** _blood. I can work just as well… no,_ better _with the blood of someone else. The blood of someone who_ ** _deserves_** _to suffer._

He healed the wound in his tongue, nostrils flaring. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Swallowing hard, he flooded himself with rejuvenation magic and surged to his feet, scooping up the kitten (who knows where it would decide to piss, if he left it on his bed) and stalking out of his chamber towards his office.

Varel found him there, the next morning, sorting through paperwork.

“Commander,” he said, looking concerned.

“Varel, what the fuck is this?” Alim held up a letter in one hand, an eyebrow raised. “I see you opened it in my absence.”

“Naturally Commander. You asked that I deal with your correspondence and…”

“It’s from the Grand Cleric. The Grand Sodding Cleric.”

“Indeed, Commander, you are correct, she wishes to…”

“She wants me to recruit templars.”

“Yes she believes it would be a good idea…”

“I’m not recruiting sodding Templars, Varel.”

“She believes it prudent, especially considering your recent conscription of the mage….”

“…Anders is a good warden. A _warden,_ ” Alim tossed the letter onto his desk. “Which means he’s out of their jurisdiction. The Grand Cleric just has her knickers in a twist because we killed Rylock.”

“Did you read the letter, Commander?”

Alim sighed. “Yes.”

“Then you know it was merely a suggestion on her part. One that I think you should take under consideration, given with Anders’ conscription you’ve violated the order’s long standing tradition of only recruiting one mage warden at a time…”

“Stupid tradition,” Alim said, scowling. “If there’d been more of us at Ostagar we would have bloody well _won_ that battle and King Cailan would still be on the throne, Loghain’s betrayal would have meant _nothing_. The First Warden gave me permission to actively seek out mage recruits and I’m sodding well going to do it.”

“We could always send a delegation to the tower…”

Alim shook his head. On one level he knew he was being petulant and silly, but on another, well, he was sodding annoyed and not afraid to let Varel see it. “I don’t want tower mages,” he said. “Tower mages would crap themselves as soon as look at a darkspawn. Apostates and malificarum, that’s what Rylock thinks we want and that’s exactly what I suddenly want to go out and recruit. Dozens of them. Anders!” 

The blond man was standing in the doorway of Alim’s office, looking slightly startled. “Yes?” he said.

“Know any other apostates who would like to take the grey? I’m feeling in a conscripting mood.”

“Um… “

“Blood mages preferably. Ones who regularly eat babies.”

“Uh… Commander…”

Varel was looking increasingly agitated. “What is it man?” Alim said, rounding on him. 

“You asked me to call on you as early as possible, Commander,” Varel said, glancing sideways at Anders, who looked a little like he wanted to hide under a table. “In order to interrogate the prisoner?”

Alim got to his feet. “Yes. You’re right.” He glanced at the other mage. “Was there something you wanted, Anders?”

But Anders was enraptured. The kitten, who had spent the night alternately sleeping in front of the fire and trying to climb the heavy velvet curtains, had bounded up to the mage and was batting at his boots with tiny kitten paws.

“Oooh, look at the cute little kitty!” Anders said. Alim blinked at the tone of voice and looked at Varel, who had one eyebrow raised. “He reminds me of Mr Wiggums!”

With a wrench Alim remembered, suddenly, how much that damned cat had meant to Anders in the tower. The story he’d related to Alim and Justice by the campfire came rushing back. If it was to be believed - and Anders would probably be the first to say he hadn’t been thinking entirely clearly by the end of his year in solitary - Mr Wiggums had saved him from being possessed by a rage demon.

If anyone had a reason to be a cat person, Anders did.

Alim suddenly and very _very_ fiercely missed Barkspawn. The mabari was no doubt happily ensconced in the royal kennels getting his end away with alarming regularity, but Alim vowed when this business was done he’d bring the damn dog back with him to Amaranthine.

In the mean time, if he couldn’t make his dwarf happy, he could at least give it a shot with Anders.

“Anders. You can have the cat if you want it. I found it last night, and Maker knows I don’t want it - there are enough pointy ears in my quarters already.”

Anders looked at him with an expression that was verging on ecstatic. Alim almost laughed. “I can’t keep a cat,” he said, sounding wistful. “We fight darkspawn for a living.”

“He can stay at the keep, then.”

Anders started babbling about what he was going to call it and Alim blinked a few times before heading out with Varel, but he did take the opportunity to give the seneschal a pointed look. When he was certain they were out of earshot Alim couldn’t resist.

“That’s the reason the grand cleric wants us to recruit templars,” he said, waving his hand back at the mage, who was cuddling the kitten to his cheek and speaking baby talk to it.

“Eight templars are dead because of him,” Varel said, face stony.

Alim cocked an eyebrow. “And how many mages do you think are dead because of those templars, Varel?”

The seneschal’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Mages are dangerous,” he said.

Alim snorted. “I know,” he said. 

_You don’t._


	21. Better than no life at all

As Alim came into the dungeons the Crow looked up from where he was sitting, relaxed, calm. Alim considered him for a long moment, then crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t look like much. Scruffy, unshaven and blond, with dirty brown eyes and the build of a natural archer. Nondescript. Easy to overlook.

His appearance made Alim suspect he was more than just your average Crow. They recruited for beauty, Zev had said. They needed people who could lower the defenses of their targets, seduce them, place them in a position that was vulnerable. This one… well, unless he scrubbed up _very_ well, he would have a hard time lowering anyone’s _anything._ Or raising it for that matter. So, either he was dumb muscle, or, like Ignacio in Denerim had been, something more.

There was a light of intelligence in his eyes that made Alim think the latter.

“I’ll be blunt with you,” he said. “You have information that I need. If you give it to me, I’ll recruit you into the wardens. You’ll be safe from the Crows until the day you die.” _Or you’ll die._

“I have no desire to become a warden,” the man said softly. “I have heard it is not an easy life.”

Alim cocked an eyebrow. “Better than no life at all.”

“True.”

“So.”

The man’s lip curled. “What is it you want to know?”

“Who hired you?”

“Bann Esmerelle,” he said, shrugging. “She wishes you gone.”

Alim nodded. It was no surprise to him that the woman wanted him dead. He suspected even if he’d been human, or non-magical, the woman would have found a reason to detest him. Rendon’s woman, through and through and a right bitch at that.

But that wasn’t the information he itched to know.

“Zevran Aranai,” he said then. “Where is he?”

The man flinched. Alim cocked an eyebrow. “Now. Why would _that_ question be less difficult to answer than the one before?”

“If you make me a warden I’ll be protected from the Crows. They won’t come after me here, or where ever you choose to send me. If I… give you information about… _him…_ I will be hunted the rest of my days.”

_“Why?”_

The Crow shook his head. “Zevran offended people he should not have offended.”

_“Do they have him?”_

The man’s lips pressed tight and he shook his head. 

Alim narrowed his eyes and sucked at his teeth, then then motioned to Varel and the two cell guards. “Leave us for a moment, would you?”

“Ser, he’s dangerous. You should not be alone with him,” Varel said.

Alim cocked an eyebrow at the man. “I can handle one Crow, Seneschal,” he said, smiling. 

“I… ah, yes. As you say, Commander.” The man jerked his head and left the room, flanked by the guards. Alim watched them leave, then turned slowly and regarded the crouched figure in the cell.

“You don’t like mages, do you?” he said finally. The man frowned. 

“What gives you that impression?”

He smirked a little. “It’s a reasonable assumption to make,” he said. “Most people are uncomfortable around my kind. But with you it’s different. I saw how you flinched when Anders healed you on the way back. You’re leaning away from me now, even though there are bars between us.”

“What as this got to do with anything?”

“Why are you afraid of us?” The Crow remained silent, watching him with wide eyes. Alim started unclasping the buckles on his left glove. “I can understand the fear of the unknown. But when it gets down to it, it isn’t _ordinary_ mages that you fear, is it? It’s the possibility, the potential, that any mage you meet could be something _so much worse.”_

The Crow licked his lips, watching Alim’s hands. Alim tugged each finger out of the glove, slowly, deliberately, ignoring the surge of triumph he could feel scratching at his mind as he did so.

“What are you doing?”

Alim didn’t answer, but pulled the glove off and considered the scar on his palm. “It’s easy enough to torture a person,” he said. “But I know for a fact that Crows are trained to resist torture. Zevran told me what the training entails. So much imagination, your order has. Such a long tradition of hurting and killing and _control.”_

Alim tugged his dagger free from his belt, turning his palm towards the bars so that the Crow could clearly see the scar. The indrawn hiss of fear and the scrabble of the man’s boots on the floor of the cell was loud in the darkness. “The thing about blood magic,” Alim said, “is that you don’t need to be _close_ to someone to control their actions. And the better thing? The blood you use doesn’t _have_ to be your own…”

“You…” the man was gasping now, “you wouldn’t. You’re the Hero of _Ferelden_. Maker’s breath… you were the advisor to the _king…_ You…”

“I’m a grey warden,” Alim said. “We use any means necessary.” He brought the tip of his dagger to his palm, not piercing the skin, but denting it, right in the centre of the scar.

“I… Oh holy maker… I don’t know much. Please. Please don’t…”

“Start talking.”

“He… he was captured. In Rialto. But he escaped. We don’t know where he went after that. I swear… by all that is holy, I’m not high in the Crows I don’t _know…”_

“Who is pursuing him?”

“Nuncio. They gave the task to Nuncio. He’s got contacts… in the Free Marches, all across the southern coast.”

“Where can I find Nuncio?”

“He… is based in Starkhaven.”

Alim lifted the knife from his palm and sheathed it, slowly, moving with difficulty, and started pulling his glove back over his hand, ignoring the thrashing in his head. _He could be lying, you will never be certain unless you use the spell why do you_ trust _him…._. “Well done.”

The Crow licked his lips again. “Are you going to kill me now?” he said.

“No. I said I would recruit you and I meant it.” Alim went to the door and called Varel back in. “Have Anders prepare the joining ritual,” he said. Varel raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“You can’t be serious,” the Crow said. “You’re a blood mage. I can’t… I won’t work… this is _insane_ how can the wardens permit…”

“The wardens have never forbidden blood magic,” Alim said as he unlocked the cell. “And I am afraid you have no choice in this, ser Crow. What is your name?”

“…ah… Albert, my name is Albert…”

“Well, Albert, from this moment forth, you’re a grey warden.”

“You can’t make me…”

Alim waved his hand and paralyzed the Crow, then ordered the two guards to carry him up to the throne room. “Be thankful I used regular magic to do that,” he said as the Crow passed. “There are far more painful ways to immobilize you.”

Alim made his way up past Anders’ workroom, to find the mage busy preparing the joining potion. The lyrium they’d scrounged from the deep roads was in various stages of refinement, and the room smelled of elfroot, darkspawn blood and magic. The kitten was sitting on the benchtop a few feet away from where Anders was mixing and measuring, batting a knitted doll back and forth between tiny paws and occasionally mewling in delight. 

“Is that safe?” Alim said as he came in. Anders, looked at the kitten and gave a half smile. 

“They’re smarter than you think,” he said. “They know what’s toxic and what isn’t,” he reached over and chucked the kitten under the chin, smiling fondly. “You’re a clever boy, aren’t you Pounce? Yes you are.”

“What’s he eating?”

“Oh that? Uh… it’s a doll. A Templar doll. I knitted it.”

“What, this _morning?”_

Anders looked sheepish. “No. When I was on watch in the Blackmarsh. I used to make them when I was on the run. Passed the time when I was sitting in the back of carts or hiding out in warehouses. Wiggums used to eat them whenever I got dragged back. I loved watching him decapitate them and pull all the stuffing out.” Alim gave him a look. Anders shurgged. “Simple pleasures, you understand, Commander.” He sniffed at the chalice in his hand and made a face. “This is almost ready.”

“Good.”

“Are you really sure you want to recruit him?”

“No, but if the worst comes to the worst I can just ship him to Weisshaupt. And I did give him my word.”

“Why not just execute him?”

Alim made a face. “I have my reasons.”

“Suit yourself. Just… I’m getting uncomfortable with the ratio of assassins to not-assassins, if you know what I mean.”

“Nathaniel wasn’t an assassin for hire. He just wanted to kill _me.”_

“Somehow this fails to reassure me,” Anders grinned, then pulled on some dragonskin gloves and moved to the bucket of raw lyrium reaching in gingerly to remove a pinch and bring it to the joining chalice. He sprinkled it in then carefully wiped the gloves with a rag which he then burned, removing the gloves and hanging them back on their hook on the wall.

“Given the amount of lyrium we chug in battle, it seems a bit stupid to be so careful about it when we’re preparing potions,” Alim said. Anders pursed his lips.

“Yeah, well, if we weren’t interacting so closely with non-mages all the time it wouldn’t be an issue. But I’d hate to get lyrium in someone’s…. eye and uh… blind them by accident because I forgot to wash my hands.” He glanced at the cat, a warm smile spreading on his face. “And there’s Pounce to consider of course.”

“Pounce?”

“Ser Pounce-A-Lot,” Anders said.

Alim laughed. “Like the tiger you used to draw in all the spirit healing books?”

Anders grinned and nodded. “They never did find a way to dissolve that ink I made. You can thank Finn for the recipe. He’d be horrified if he knew what I used it for.” 

Alim smiled, thinking of the nervous mage who had been one of Anders’ closest friends. “Come on,” he said, feeling surprisingly full of purpose. _Rialto,_ he thought. _He would have left me a sign. And if I can’t find him there, there’s always Nuncio._ “Let’s go poison a Crow.”


	22. These sodding woods

As the assassin’s body slumped to the ground Alim couldn’t help the small snort of resignation from leaving him. Nathaniel had certainly come to it more willingly in the end than … Albert? but Jory and Daveth and Mhairi and other joinings at Weisshaupt had taught him that willingness or not wasn’t enough to guarantee survival. He called for servants to remove the body - there was a pyre already prepared, ready for a full service, and his name would be recorded alongside Mhairi’s. Despite everything, he would be honoured as a Grey Warden.

Mistress Woolsey was waiting outside the throne room. She barely blinked as the body was taken past her, reeking as it was of the dungeons and darkspawn, and Alim braced himself for the tirade.

“Letters, Commander,” she said in her dry tone. “And I really _must_ insist…”

“I’m aware, Mistress,” Alim snapped. “We will be leaving for the Wending Wood this afternoon. I do, however, have a funeral to prepare right now so if you’ll excuse me…”

She pressed her lips together in disapproval, but pressed the letters into his hands and turned on her heels back to the treasury.

_You were foolish. That was an opportunity lost._

Alim shut his eyes for a second. 

_Still. There will be others._

He ignored the voice, walking towards Oghren’s quarters and sifting through the letters. He raised his eyebrows at one remarkably thick one that was addressed to Anders in handwriting that was… vaguely familiar. He puzzled at it for a few seconds before shrugging and tucking it into a belt pouch. The rest of the letters could wait and he snagged a servant in the hall to take them to his office.

He found the dwarf strapping on his Legion armour, bleary eyed but steady on his feet. “We’re heading out, Commander?”

“The assassin failed his joining,” Alim said softly. “There’s a pyre. Can you tell the others? He gets full honours.”

Oghren raised his eyebrows but shrugged. “If you say so,” he said. “Are we going to these sodding woods?”

Alim smiled and nodded.

“Bet you’re happy about that, you’ll get to be all elfy and tongue-kiss the trees or whatever it is you do.”

“Oghren I grew up in the tower. The only trees I saw were pictures. Usually with student graffiti all over them.”

The dwarf shrugged. “As long as we get to fight, I don’t give a nug’s arse.”

Alim clapped the dwarf on his armoured shoulder. “I’m pretty sure we’ll get to fight, old friend,” he said. 

They gathered the rest of the wardens as they made their way down to the courtyard where the pyre was prepared. Sergeant Maverlies and the other keep soldiers stood at attention looking solemn, and the corpse of the assassin - neatly wrapped and prepared by the chapel sisters, rested on the tall pile of logs ready to be burned. Alim eyed his motley collection of wardens, biting the side of his cheek as he realised how different they looked from the neat rows of Amaranthine soldiers. He wondered what Duncan would have thought to see them like this - assassins, apostates, dusters and drunkards.

He rubbed his hand. _And Maleficar. Don’t forget that._

He never asked, what Duncan was, before he was a warden. He’d been too caught up in his own problems. Jowan. The circle. Ostagar… and then...

…then Duncan was dead.

The Chantry sister spoke the appropriate words of the chant and Alim spoke a few words as Commander of the Grey. They probably weren’t true, but the Maker, he figured, wouldn’t mind and the assassin…well, he _certainly_ wouldn’t.

Once the flames had died down he nodded to the wardens to follow him out the gates, nodding to Varel and Maverlies as he left. Any further delays to their trip to the Wending Wood and he suspected Woolsey would die from stress.

Sigrun and Justice were bickering over the morality of thieving for enjoyment about an hour out from the keep when he dropped into step (or as close to as he could, given the mage’s legs were half again as long as his own) next to Anders.

“I have something for you,” he said. 

Anders grinned down at him. “Not another cat, I hope? There’s not room in this pouch for more than one.” The cat obviously knew when he was being spoken about, as there was a swipe from a small orange paw out of one of Anders’ belt pouches that was a little bigger than the others. Alim rolled his eyes and fished the letter out of his own belt.

“I don’t think many cats survived the darkspawn attack, actually,” Alim handed Anders the letter and had the satisfaction of seeing the older man stop still with it caught between his fingers.

“When did this arrive?” Anders said softly.

“This morning. I recognise the handwriting, but I can’t remember…”

Anders smiled slightly. “Finn,” he said. “I’m not surprised you recognised it, you copied his notes often enough.”

Alim smiled, remembering. They’d been friends, of sorts, in the Tower. Not as close as he and Jowan had been, but he’d been pleased when he’d discovered Finn had managed to avoid the carnage during Uldred’s rebellion. 

“Why’s Finn writing to you?” Alim said. “I can’t imagine he’s exchanging research notes, you were always one for…” he gave Anders a lewd look, “ _practical_ application in the field rather than…”

Anders snorted. “Oh ha bloody ha,” he said. “No. No, it’s not… “ 

“Move your pretty feet, sparklefingers,” the dwarf grunted, shoving Anders from behind as he passed. “We’re not getting paid to stand around.”

“I didn’t know we were getting paid at all, arse-breath,” Anders snapped back, beginning to walk, his attention diverted from Alim in a way that made Alim suspect the other mage was _grateful_ to be steered away from this particular conversation.

“Beak-nose.”

“Nug-legs.”

“Are you trying to say something about my height?”

“That would hardly be necessary, Oghren, your _height_ speaks _for_ you. Much more eloquently than you, usually.”

Oghren growled and Anders grinned, surreptitiously tucking the letter into his robes and picking up his pace. Alim had to hurry to keep up with him.

“He must have found out you were a warden,” Alim said. “Who would know?”

“Oh. I ah… “ Anders didn’t look at him. “I wrote to him. And told him. After we got rid of Rylock.”

Anders and Finn had always been good friends in the tower, but Alim had never thought they were _that_ way inclined. “I didn’t realise you and he were….”

Anders burst into laughter. “Oh Andraste’s Knickerweasels, no. That’s not it. Uh. Well. After Karl was transferred… Finn smuggled letters between us and the Kirkwall circle.”

“Karl? Karl _Thekla?”_

Anders swallowed, looking a little bit pained. “Yes.”

“He left…. years and _years_ ago.”

A muscle worked in Anders’ jaw. “Yes.”

“So the letter’s from Karl then?”

“It’ll be buried between sheets of an incredibly long and boring dissertation about the nature of spirits and healing when under the influence of certain obscure herbs, but yes. Finn always did have a certain talent for…”

“…boring the crap out of people?”

Anders grinned and nodded. “Yes. Best cover ever. No templar is going to wade through all that just to find a dirty note….”

“I think you underestimate the perversity of your average templar…”

Anders laughed. “I think you overestimate their ability to read, Commander.” He sighed. “Any way. It’ll be a letter from Karl. Hopefully.”

Anders increased his pace again, making it more than difficult, as well as a little undignified, for Alim to keep up, so he hung back instead, talking to Sigrun and eyeing Nathaniel’s legs (more out of habit than anything else) for a while. When they stopped to make camp Alim came upon Anders again fetching water from a stream. The mage was a surprisingly good cook, and had taken to preparing most of their meals. Sigrun helped out, usually. She was completely fascinated by the sheer variety of things above ground that were edible.

“I’ve heard Kirkwall isn’t the nicest circle out there,” Alim said.

Anders’ nostrils flared and his hand flew to his belt to stroke Pounce’s head, poking out of his pouch and purring loud enough to scare passing wildlife. “So have I,” he said softly.


	23. The ears don't give us telepathy

It was beautiful, he supposed. Sigrun danced from tree to tree, smelling things and exclaiming about how the grass was different. Nathaniel, who was almost adorably serious, started explaining to her that this was because it didn’t get as much light as the grass in the fields around Amaranthine, and Sigrun asked seriously why that would make any difference. Nathaniel looked confused for a moment and Anders smirked.

“Sigrun, plants use light for food,” Anders said. He was more cheerful, and Alim wondered exactly what had been in that letter that Finn had passed to him. Zevran would have pickpocketed the mage to have a look at it. But no matter how many times he’d tried to teach Alim to be stealthy, Alim had always failed. He would have to be content with prodding Anders for information… although…

…There’d been a haunted look in Anders’ eyes, when Alim had mentioned the Kirkwall Circle. One that Alim hadn’t liked. Anders had spent a year in solitary. Anders had been flogged, once, after being dragged back after yet another escape attempt, and Alim had realised, even then, that it wasn’t the stripes of the lash that had hurt so much as the fact that _he’d been caught._

Perhaps that was why Alim had never attempted it. He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to withstand that many disappointments. 

But after all that he’d been through in Kinloch, he had that look on his face when he even _mentioned_ Kirkwall… Alim had enough of his own problems without starting a crusade to fix all the circles in Thedas.

He brought his attention back to the woods around them, and his increasingly bubbly duster warden.

“They use _light_ for _food_?” Sigrun’s eyes were huge and round in surprise. “But light… “ she waved a hand. “That doesn’t sound like it would be very _filling.”_

Alim laughed. “Sigrun, plants don’t have stomachs to fill.”

“Huh! You’re right. I’ve never thought of it that way,” she frowned at Anders. “This isn’t like the thing with the caterpillars, is it? Because there’s _no way_ they turn into butterflies, they look nothing like…”

“Maker’s breath, woman. I told you I wasn’t joking then and I meant it. One day soon I’m going to trap you one so you can _watch_ it make a cocoon.”

The little legionaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re on,” she said. “I’m sure there are lots in this forest…”

“Wardens, please,” Alim said, rolling his eyes, but smiling at the same time. “We have to find out what’s…”

Nathaniel held up a hand. “Do you smell smoke?”

Alim looked at him, then sniffed the air. There was a definite charred smell to it, and he heaved a sigh. “I suppose we’re lucky we got this far,” he said, shifting Wintersbreath into his hands. 

There wasn’t much in the way of salvage to be had from the burning caravans, but they gathered what they could and sent Oghren and Sigrun back with it, happily bickering about what the best food was to feed the caterpillars she’d managed to collect. He needed focus at the moment, and Oghren was distracted by Sigrun almost as much as Sigrun was distracted by the smell of trees. He thought it would be better if they were back at the keep.

If there was one thing he could say safely about Justice, it was that he was _not_ easily distracted. Nor was Nate. Alim had precious little patience for distraction at the moment. Not when he had somewhere he needed to be. Everything he was doing right now, everything he was _obliged_ to do ate at him like a walking bomb. He had a place. _Rialto._ He had a name. _Nuncio._

Nothing was going to keep him from them. Not now.

They were crossing a bridge to another area of the forest when the bandit ran into him. Literally. Alim staggered against Nathaniel, who steadied him with a firm hand, and then started to gibber in fear when he saw (or maybe smelled) Justice.

“Maker’s mercy, you’re with her aren’t you? You’re an elf, just like she is. Please. Please don’t kill me. I’m not… I’m not like them I’m not…”

Nathaniel slapped him hard across the face with leather gloved hand. “Pull yourself together man,” he said sharply, even as Alim managed to blink a few times and get his balance. “You’re speaking to the Commander of the Grey. Hero of Ferelden.” 

Alim was sure he was imagining the slight smirk in Nathaniel’s voice.

“I… I am? You are…?” The man seemed to slump in palpable relief, although when Alim had started inspiring that rather than fear or disdain he wasn’t entirely certain. “Andraste praise you, ser. I… “

There was a crunch of what sounded like wood.

“More of those… animate trees?” Justice said.

Anders had his staff in his hands. “No. I can smell magic.”

“Magic?” the bandit started scrabbling against Nathaniel’s hold. “Maker! No! She’s here!” Nathaniel tightened his grip on the man’s arm, but he was fueled by desperation. “No. No! Get out of my way! I have to get out of here… she’ll kill me! She’ll kill you all!” Nathaniel cursed suddenly, and let the man go. Not even Justice was fast enough to catch him again as he bolted over the bridge. 

Alim shook his head. “Let him go,” he said. “It looks like we’ve got…” He couldn’t ever describe exactly how it happened afterwards, but suddenly there was an elf - an angry one too - standing on top of the ridge over the path. She wore those peculiar Dalish robes that he’d seen in the Brecilian forest that managed to cover everything essential while at the same time looking like they covered nothing at all, and her delicate features were twisted in rage, “…company.”

“Another scavenger here to pray on the misfortunes of others?” the elf said, then cocked her head on one side and eyed them with bright blue, intelligent eyes. “No. You are too well armed.” She sneered. “Here for me then? You will not drive me from these forests. The shems could not do it, the darkspawn could not, and you will fare no better!”

Alim blinked. _Darkspawn?_ “I am a grey warden,” he said, frowning.

The elf visibly relaxed. “Ah. Here to battle the darkspawn then? Fair enough.” She nodded firmly and raised her arms. “Should you encounter any merchant caravans, tell them to release my sister or more of them will die. Now go. Deal with your darkspawn. And stay out of my way. Consider this a warning.”

She was gone before Alim could say anything.

“Dalish eh?” Anders said. “Are they all psychotic or just the mages?”

“Why are you asking me?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “The ears don’t give us telepathy, you know.”

“No… I didn’t…” Alim smirked at him. “Oh shut up pointy ears.”

Alim chuckled and looked around. “That’s _Commander_ pointy ears to you, blondie.” He sucked at his teeth. “She said there were darkspawn about, but I don’t sense them. They can’t be nearby.”

Nathaniel was frowning. “Bandits and merchant caravaners wouldn’t have any use for a Dalish hostage,” he said softly.

“Unless that woman started attacking them _before_ her sister went missing. Maybe they wanted to have leverage against her?” Anders said. “She certainly seemed crazy enough.”

Alim shook his head. “The Dalish don’t usually attack without provocation of some kind,” he said. “We were given ample warning before we walked into Zathrien’s camp, and they were under siege from _werewolves._ Something must have happened.” He tapped the end of his staff against his shoulder and made his way up to the patch of earth where the woman had appeared, kneeling down and spreading his hands over the grass. “She has _powerful_ magic. I’ve never seen a spell like that before.”

“The Dalish keepers know a _lot_ that the Circle don’t want us knowing about,” Anders said, coming up to join him. “I’d love to talk to her about it - that spell would be an excellent way of getting away from templars.”

“You do not need to worry about templars any longer, mage,” Justice said. Alim glanced at him, remembering the letter form the Grand Cleric still sitting on his desk in Amaranthine.

“Well, perhaps if we find her sister she’ll be less likely to rip us to shreds and might indulge a few questions,” Alim stood and rubbed the back of his neck, reaching out with his senses. “There is _something._ Perhaps she’s right and there _are_ darkspawn.”

“Wonderful,” Nathaniel said dryly. 

“We should not delay,” Justice drew his sword, nodding to them firmly. “There is injustice here. Either by the elf, or by those who have her sister. We must find the perpetrators and punish them.”

Alim held up his hand. “No stabbing without my orders, remember?”

“You have my word, Commander.”

“Good. Let’s find out what’s going on here.”


	24. I just wish to talk

The man was dying. Alim was surprised he wasn’t already dead, in fact, although the taint was unpredictable in some, Hespith and Ruck had lasted for years. 

They hadn’t looked as bad as this man though. 

“No. Don’t look, don’t look at me.”

“Who are you?”

“Olaf. My name. Came with friends to drive out… away… the elf. But the darkspawn were too quick. We were ripped apart. Biting claws and teeth from the darkness. And then I woke… flesh and bone and gristle under me… around me… Everyone dead. Dead soft meat melting into the ground. I crawled away. Came here. Can’t stand to see it…”

The pit of corpses had been enough to make Nathaniel cover his mouth and Anders retch. Alim had stared blankly for a few moments before turning away. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d seen in his time as a warden. 

Nate hadn’t seen broodmothers yet.

“Did you kill the elves?” he asked, probably harshly, but there were a _lot_ of deaths to account for in these woods and he wasn’t entirely certain all of them could be attributed to one crazy elf and a bunch of as-yet-unseen darkspawn.

“No. No. Darkspawn came first. They slaughtered us. Took our steel. Brought it to the elven camp. Tricked us. Tricked the elf. Now she thinks we are to blame. Hunts all in her rage. While they watch.”

“So all these people died over a misunderstanding? Maker… that’s horrible! We have to stop her. Tell her she’s wrong! Do you think she’s back at her camp? We could try looking for her there…” Anders said.

“The dark ones are curious about you too. They watch you as well as her. Can you feel them?” Alim nodded. It was easy now, to feel the taint crawling along his senses, and it didn’t simply come from the man in front of him. They would likely not get away from here without a fight. 

“Do you know anything about the elf’s sister?”

“Sister? I have a sister… do I? Elf sister… no… we did not take her. Probably dead. Or eaten.”

“Where did the darkspawn come from?”

“Beneath. Around. From shadows.”

 _This is what you get when you ask crazy tainted people for information,_ he thought. Surely he should have learned better by now.

He looked at the man long and hard for a moment. “This disease will kill you you know.”

“Am already dead. Am already gone. Make an end. Please.”

Alim swallowed, reaching for his knife. None of the others attempted to stop him. The man gave a soft sigh of relief as he slid the knife home, thinking of Hespith, of Ruck… even of Riordan.

Of himself, in twenty, maybe thirty years.

Of Anders, Nathaniel, Oghren, Sigrun… all of them would suffer this fate, if they let it go on too long.

_You do not have to. Remember Avernus._

The blood that flowed over his hands from the man’s wound was tainted, worse than his own, but it still sang to him, still pulled him inwards and towards it like a drug. It took Anders’ hand on his shoulder to bring him back to himself…

…and the darkspawn. Naturally there were darkspawn as well.

When the last of them fell to one of Nathaniel’s arrows Anders was still looking stricken. “We are going to find her, aren’t we?” he said. “She can’t keep going on like this… imagine how she’ll feel when she realises she’s…”

Alim bit his lip. “We can go back up to the camp and see if she’s there, Anders, but it’s more important for us to find where the darkspawn are coming from.”

“She’ll keep attacking the caravans if we don’t stop her somehow,” Nathaniel pointed out. 

“True.” A glint of silver on one of the darkspawn made him frown. He knelt down to find a small pendant, delicate work, obviously valuable. He tucked it into a pouch and looked up towards the camp. The sooner they got out of these woods the happier he’d be. It seemed an age since Sigrun had been laughing about plants. Darkspawn blood and taint and burning sylvans had left a bad taste in his mouth and a creeping sense of foreboding.

Something was not right here, and it had the smell of the talking darkspawn about it. _Planting_ weapons to make it look like the militia had attacked the elves? Darkspawn liked to do their killing personally, in his experience. They didn’t have the imagination to plan the sort of sick misunderstanding that had happened here. It was malicious and frightening.

They were nearly back at the camp when she appeared again. “Why are you still here? I told you to stay away from me! I warned you! This place is not for you!”

Alim resisted the urge to freeze her. Her powers were unknown, there was no point in testing them until he had to. “The humans did not kidnap your sister!” he called.

She sneered. “I know a human crime when I see it. I have experienced more than enough of them. You will pay for repeating their lies.”

He didn’t need to ask whether she’d accept payment in coin. 

“You know what?” Alim said, as he shot fire at a sylvan Anders had frozen in place with a paralysis spell.

“What?”

“I’m beginning to think all Dalish mages are unhinged.”

“You’ve met some before now?”

Alim grimaced and whacked a wolf on the head hard enough to break its skull with Wintersbreath. “Just the one. He was… less than reasonable.”

“I still want to ask her about that spell. Can we not kill her?”

 _“If_ she stops trying to kill me, I’ll be happy to try.”

“Damned inconsiderate. She should be thinking about the practical applications of magic and the joys of intellectual collaboration, not…”

“…how to most effectively boil the blood of humans in their veins?”

Anders laughed. “Yes. That.” The last of the wolves died with a whimper and Anders prodded at it with his boot. “She’s pretty too,” he mused. “Seems a shame.” 

“Oh Maker, Anders,” Alim said, “Dalish are even more prickly about that sort of thing than your average non-mage. Don’t push your luck.”

They climbed up to the remains of the elven camp, Alim feeling a buzz of weariness in his limbs that had little to do with physical exertion. She was kneeling by one of the stone covered graves, an easy target, should he give the order to Nathaniel to fire. One arrow, and she would trouble no more caravans. The simple solution.

The moment was lost when she spun around. “You! You will not take me alive.”

He sighed. “I’m not going to kill you.”

She was as taut as a bowstring. She _knew_ what she was doing was wrong. It gave him a little hope. “I will not go with you to some… shemlen magistrate. I won’t bow to their rules.”

“The people you killed deserve Justice,” Justice said.

Alim held up a hand to stop him from exacting it immediately. “I just…” he shrugged. “I just wish to talk.”

She laughed. “Talk.”

“The darkspawn were playing the humans against the elves.”

“What? The darkspawn are mindless. It is not possible.”

“The humans can’t be responsible. The darkspawn _killed_ them.”

“They should never have come here in the first place. If they had just left us alone, all this would never have happened,” the woman surged to her feet as she talked, all the rage of her loss vibrating through her. Alim could _feel_ the raw potential of her power. It was awe-inspiring, and frightening, and he braced himself for an attack that never came. Instead the proud shoulders slumped a little and she looked at the ground. “If it _wasn’t_ the humans who killed my people and took Seranni, are you saying the darkspawn did it?”

Alim fingered the pendant in his pouch, debating. Then he shook his head and tossed it towards her. “I found this trinket on a darkspawn.” 

She caught it nimbly, one delicate blond eyebrow arching over her eye. “This… this was Seranni’s. She would never willingly part with it. Our mother gave it to her before she died.” She traced a finger over it’s edge, wonder and sadness in her voice. “Why would the darkspawn do this?”

He could picture Hespith’s face far more clearly than he would have liked. But mincing the truth would not help him here, and the woman deserved all the information he had. “They make females into broodmothers,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Are you saying Seranni will become one of them? I will not allow that!”

He looked at her. “Let me help.”

“You? You want to find Seranni? Why?”

“No one deserves to suffer at the hands of the darkspawn.”

There was a moment when he thought she would refuse. The eyes narrowed, the stance altered. She was obviously so used to attack. He was reminded of Zathrien, and of the Dalish keeper’s fate. So much strength, and sometimes it was channeled into such hatred… Perhaps this time, it could be channeled somewhere better?

He couldn’t deny that Anders was right. Part of him _really_ wanted to learn the spells she wielded. But it wasn’t just greed for knowledge that motivated him. 

“Thank you,” she breathed eventually. “Perhaps I… misjudged you. My name is Velanna, if you care for such things. Do you know where the darkspawn might dwell?”

“Tunnels, most like.”

“There is an abandoned mine some ways to the north of here, the tunnels run far into the earth. We will likely find the darkspawn there.”

They walked towards the ruins that marked the entrance to the mine. As they walked, Justice glared at Velanna with almost palpable waves of righteous anger. There was a real possibility the spirit would choose to exact vengeance for the fallen militia and caravaners if he was forced to endure her company for too long, and he knew full well how little impact magic had on the sometime-corpse - if the two of them got into a fight Velanna would be dead in the first minute. 

When they reached the mine entrance Alim stopped the spirit from entering with his palm flat on his breastplate. “I want you to stay here and guard the entrance, Justice,” he said softly. “There’s a chance there are still darkspawn in the woods, and they’ll want to come back to whatever twisted thing is controlling them eventually. I’d rather not have them come up behind us, if it’s all the same to you.”

“As you wish, Commander.” 

Alim smiled and nodded. It was tactically sound, and he couldn’t deny it would be a relief to have someone as solid as Justice guarding their backs. 

When the spell hit them at the bottom of the ridiculously long and winding staircase, Alim had time to wonder if it would have affected Justice, but not enough time to curse his stupid luck for not bringing him.


	25. It was just a thing

_In his dream, Morrigan was lecturing him on the best way to take animal form. Alim, who found the whole concept of shapeshifting slightly nauseating, was attempting to pay attention - although he had no intention of ever following through on becoming a spider he really had no way of knowing if it would be necessary some day. There was something nagging at the back of his mind the whole time she spoke, and it wasn’t that Alistair was calmly talking to Loghain at the campfire behind them, or that Shale was giving Oghren piggy back rides around the camp._

_Or that Zevran was lying behind her face down in a spreading pool of blood. Blood that_ sang.

He woke and immediately wished he was asleep again. There was… a face. Too close to him. It was covered by a mask, but the mask could not conceal that the face was the wrong shape - too tall, to long… too smooth. The taint screamed in his blood, and something else, something muted, screamed in his head.

“So, you are the Commander of the Grey wardens?” the face asked. A beautiful voice. Seductive. Low. Soothing. “Do not be frightened. Your injuries have been tended to. I apologise for what I must do. I do not wish to be your enemy. But now is not the time for this.” _The time for what?_ he tried to speak, but his lips wouldn’t move. Tried to move, but his body wouldn’t obey any of his instructions. The figure raised a hand, making a delicate and precise gesture. “Rest.”

 _I don’t have time to rest,_ he wanted to say. 

_I don’t have time…._

When he woke again he was looking into Anders’ concerned face. If he’d felt better he would have made some sort of joke, _I hope you bought me dinner first,_ but when he opened his mouth all he could say was “Ugh.”

Anders gave him a small, tight, smile. “Ugh is right,” he said. “You probably feel dreadful. They… took your blood.”

Alim blinked. “Maker’s breath. _Why?”_

Anders shrugged. “No idea. But they left water. You’ll need lots. It’s clean, I made sure of that.”

Alim sat up and looked around the cage they were in. Nathaniel nodded from a corner, looking relaxed in peasants clothes - Alim supposed he’d had a lot of time to get used to prison cells lately. Velanna was up and pacing the room, full of nervous energy and scowling. 

Anders was tense and obviously not pleased. “I tried to pick the lock on the door,” he said. “So did Nate. But we don’t have proper picks. They were pretty thorough about searching us.”

“They?”

Anders frowned. “The strange one… with the mask? There’s a dwarf woman with him as well, as well as a bunch of darkspawn. Less… grrr arrrgh than most. The tall one seems to be able to calm them.” The older mage shrugged. “For jailors they’re surprisingly gentle. I’d certainly pick darkspawn over Templars, any way.”

“You might,” Nathaniel said mildly. 

Anders shot him a scowl. “One day they’ll round up all the Howes, just like I warned you,” he said. Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

“We can’t have been here too long,” Alim said. “Otherwise Justice would be here.”

“I’d not be relying on a fade spirit’s idea of the passage of time, were I you,” Anders said. “He might just stand out there until winter and not realise.”

“Does he even feel the cold?”

“I don’t think so, remember that time he didn’t get out of the way in time and you blasted him with…”

“Gentlemen,” Nathaniel managed to sound remarkably like First Enchanter Irving when he was at his most pompous, “as fascinating as this is, should we not be concentrating on how to get out of here.”

Alim picked at his ear. He was wearing the same clothes as the others, robes and staff and sword all gone. “If we can get out of here we’re going to have to be… ”

Velanna’s high pitched shout cut through his musings as another elf woman approached their cage. Even from where he was sitting Alim could feel the taint crawling through her blood, but there was something else on top of it that made him frown. He’d felt the same from the strange tall darkspawn.

“Seranni? Oh creators, what have they done to you?”

The elf woman - presumably Velanna’s sister, from her greeting, looked pained. “They haven’t done anything. I’m fine, Velanna, it’s not me he wants.” _It’s not me he wants…_ Alim’s nostrils flared. What _did_ he want then? “I have to get you out before something bad happens. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt.”

Velanna nodded. “Yes, all right. Let me out and I’ll take you home…”

“The darkspawn have your things. You can still get it all back if you’re careful and clever. They’re going to come back to check on you. You have to hurry.”

“Careful and clever hasn’t been our strong point so far,” Nathaniel muttered. Alim rolled his eyes.

“You must have some idea of what’s going on here,” he asked Seranni. 

The elf shook her head a little too quickly and wouldn’t meet his eyes as she replied, fiddling with the lock on the door. It clicked, but she made no move to open it. “I don’t know anything. But take this key. It opens a chest in the emissary’s room. Maybe you’ll find some answers there.” She pushed a key towards Alim through the bars, and he took it, frowning. 

That she was free, wandering around the dungeons, obviously tainted… “How did you get this?”

“I… I found it,” there was a thump and a creak from behind her and she started. “They’re coming. You have to go. Find a way out of the mines. Please!” 

“I can’t just leave you Seranni!” Velanna reached out through the bars but the other woman startled back and ran. “Wait!”

Alim opened the now unlocked door, wondering if he should tell Velanna that her sister was almost certainly dying. He glanced at the Dalish and away again quickly. She wasn’t stupid, that much was obvious, for all her foolishness in the woods. Just very, very angry. And frightened.

He shook his head. He’d raise it when they were safe. Maybe. Now, they had too much to do.

Casting spells without Wintersbreath to focus was more difficult than he remembered. He’d spent too long relying on it, he realised, and he missed it keenly. Not as much as Nathaniel obviously missed his bow and daggers, however. The rogue was fair at bare fisted fighting, but as soon as he was able he looted the corpse of a darkspawn for a pair of wickedly curved daggers. Alim eyed them suspiciously. They looked a lot like they would do more damage to the user than to anyone one might try to stab with them.

Nathaniel saw him looking and shrugged. “They cut well enough,” he said, waving a hand to Anders, who was busy healing a wound on his arm from one of them.

“Just don’t poke your eye out with them,” Alim cautioned. 

An emissary dropped a staff that he gave to Velanna. Nathaniel may have been bad at hand to hand, but she was far worse. Anders was surprisingly dreadful with a sword for such a big man, but another dagger was enough to stop the worst of the attacks that he was subjected to, and a few well timed mind blasts took care of any spawn who got too close to him... as well as Nathaniel once, which necessitated a fairly well phrased apology. The mage was a natural target, unfortunately, the tallest of them, with that blond hair and gold earring catching whatever light happened to be around. 

When they saw the first ghoul - with Velanna’s distinctive Dalish staff strapped to her back and wearing those ridiculous robes, Alim allowed himself a small bit of hope that he’d be reunited with his staff. They found Anders’ things next, then Nathaniel’s, but the ghoul wearing his mage robes and carrying Wintersbreath was tougher than the others, the fight was longer…

Velanna’s fireball was impressive, large and _devastating._ Alim kneeled over the scattered ashes and flecks of blue that were all that remained of his robes and staff and cursed.

Spellweaver was the only thing that had survived. Wintersbreath was no more.

He felt an arm on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Commander,” Anders said, his voice solemn. “I know you loved your staff.”

Alim felt surprisingly close to tears. “I carried that thing nearly the whole Blight,” he said, swallowing.

“Oh for the sake of the creators,” Velanna snapped. “It was just a _thing.”_

“I seem to recall you fighting like a demon to get _your_ ridiculous robes back, serah Keeper,” Anders said.

“They have unique Dalish enchantments!”

“And a plunging neckline worthy of Maggie Amell!” Anders said, causing Alim to snort in memory. Anders’ face softened, and he gave Alim’s shoulder another few pats. “The Commander’s just going to miss stroking his staff, that’s all. Polishing it. Crooning to it during long night watches…”

“Shut up, Anders,” Alim said, slapping the healer’s hand away and standing up. The scabbard was singed and blackened, but still useable. He’d have to rely on it to focus his spells until he could find another staff. There was one for sale in the markets at Amaranthine that had looked nice. It was expensive, but what was the point in being an Arl and having a treasury if he couldn’t spend a bit of coin? 

Nathaniel was eyeing Spellweaver.  “I’ve never seen you use that,” he said softly. “I presumed it was there for… status. As warden commander….”

Alim hefted the sword in his grip, scowling. “I don’t like swords much,” he said. “They’re crude. I used it to kill the archdemon though.”

“But you can channel spells through it as well?” Velanna said. “I have… heard something about that. Was it not an ancient Dalish technique?”

He grinned at her. “It was.”

“How did a _flat ear_ learn such a thing?”

Alim looked at Anders, who was covering a grin with one hand. _“What_ did you call me?”

She folded her arms over her chest, looking unapologetic. “You are not Dalish. You did not have access to the knowledge of the keepers. Where did you learn…?”

“I can teach it to you if you want, Velanna,” he said mildly. “And I didn’t beat up a Dalish keeper or anything to learn the things I know. Knowledge isn’t…. something that should be _kept_ from people you know.

“It is _Dalish_ knowledge…”

Alim shrugged. “So you should be grateful it’s no longer _lost_ Dalish knowledge, shouldn’t you?” He sheathed the sword on his back, sparing one more glance at the ruins of his gear and sighing. “We need to get out of here,” he said. “We can talk about sharing magical knowledge later.”

 _“Stealing_ you mean,” Velanna muttered.

Alim rolled his eyes and stalked onwards.


	26. We have a special connection

The papers were written in a crabbed, scratchy hand and Alim’s tired eyes couldn’t deal with trying to work through them right now. He shoved the journal in his pack. “Darkspawn _writers,”_ he muttered. “It better be something useful and not a tragic romance about a Hurlock and his faithful Dire Wolf.”

“What would he be writing about?” Nathaniel said. The key Seranni had given them had unlocked a chest, packed full of equipment and papers, and the room was littered with alembics and beakers - much like Anders’ workroom back at the keep.

Several of the beakers contained blood. It wasn’t difficult to realise that the blood was _his._

“Perhaps he’s trying to create super darkspawn?” Anders said. Alim looked at him and Anders winced. “That’s so not a comforting thought I just had.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Velanna said. “We need to find Seranni and get out of here.”

“I’m sorry, Velanna, but it does matter,” Alim said. “I’m the Commander of the Grey wardens. Finding your sister has to be a secondary concern.”

Velanna opened her mouth to say something and Alim wondered if she’d leave them, right there, in the middle of a nest of darkspawn. He wouldn’t put it past her. But she faltered, looked down at her hands and took a deep breath. 

“I promise, if we find her we’ll do everything we can to bring her with us,” he said softly. “But you must understand that the Darkspawn have to be our first concern.”

“Of course,” she said softly. 

“Give me some time here and I might be able to work out what he’s trying to do, Commander,” Anders said. He was bent over one of the tables, using a metal rod to prod at one of the concoctions. “Pounce would be able to tell what was in this just from smelling it.”

“Pity he couldn’t then tell you, considering, you know, he’s a _cat,”_ Alim said.

“We have a special connection.”

Nathaniel frowned at Anders. “Where is the animal?”

Anders grinned at him. “Left him with Justice. They get on _fine_ so long as he doesn’t try to emancipate him.”

Nathaniel blinked. “That’s… oddly disturbing.”

“I bet he just likes the opportunity to gnaw on the bits of him that fall off,” Alim said.

“You take that back, Commander!”

Alim chuckled. “I was joking,” he sighed and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “We should have brought Oghren. He’d be able to smell the surface…Or Sigrun….”

Nathaniel shook his head. “We’ll find a way out, Commander, do not worry.” 

Alim nodded. “Pack up all of that,” he said. “I’ll go over it when we’re back at the keep. One more thing to take up my time.”

“Oh, the joys of command,” Anders said. He was busy pouring the contents of one of the beakers into an empty bottle. Alim frowned.

“Why are you bringing that? I’ve got plenty _in my body_ you could use.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “It’s not _just_ your blood, Commander,” he said. “Otherwise it would have coagulated… Oh, come on I know you paid attention in Wynne’s classes, what kind of healer _are_ you….”

Alim waved a hand. “Fine. Do you think you can find out what else he put in there?”

“That’s the plan.” Anders stoppered the bottle and sealed it using the wax on a candle. “He shouldn’t have left it lying around open,” the mage said critically. “His samples would be all corrupted…”

“I very much doubt _he_ was paying attention in Wynne’s classes, Anders,” Alim said. “I’m sure we would have noticed a freakishly tall darkspawn sitting at the back of the room.”

Anders grinned. “Good point.”

They made their way out of the room and up some stairs, into a large chamber. Alim was reminded again of the ruins in the Brecilian Forest.

There was a familiar odour as well. At first he thought it was simply because of his memories — they had, after all, fought a dragon there too, but when the odour came accompanied by a sighting of the strange darkspawn and the sickeningly familiar leathery flap of wings he groaned.

“Dragons,” he said shortly. “Only little ones, thank the maker. But dragons all the same.”

“You do like to keep us on our toes, don’t you, Commander,” Anders quipped, letting his staff fall into his hands.

“I can’t call dragons.”

“Here I thought you could do _anything.”_

_“Shut up.”_

Anders shut up, apart from his periodically bloodthirsty battle cries, and Alim had time to see Velanna’s spells in action. It was surprisingly easy to kill dragons, even large ones, when they were pinned to the ground with tree roots. Nathaniel shot one of them through both eyes and he froze the other to let it be shattered by a stonefist from Anders. As the last chunks settled and Velanna’s roots descended back into the broken stones of the floor he heard the elven woman shout again and looked up.

“Seranni! _Seranni!”_

The strange, tall darkspawn stood on a ledge overlooking their dragon battlefield, and next to him a dwarf woman and Velanna’s sister. The taint was obvious in all of them, he could feel it now, feel it’s fingers reaching out to the corruption that rested in his own blood, but there was something more… something _wrong_ that made him pause.

“What are you waiting for? We have to save her!”

“If you can fly, Velanna, you’re welcome to try to get up there,” Anders said, hands on his knees and panting. 

“Seranni!”

The party on the ledge backed away through a tunnel, and there was a crash as magic brought down the roof behind them. Alim steadied himself on Spellweaver as the ground shook, anxiously watching the ceiling for any signs it might come down, but the structure, which had stood for so long, stayed secure and he heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Velanna, I am sorry.”

“No! Why is she with that monster? We must get to her!”

Alim closed his eyes and let her distress wash over him. There truly was nothing he could do. They needed to get back to the keep and resupply - he’d have to stop in Amaranthine and get a new staff - he winced as he remembered anew the loss of Wintersbreath - and then… and then….

…they were going to have to find the source of these darkspawn. And wipe them out. There was no time for a rescue mission.

“You’re welcome to come with us back to Amaranthine, Velanna. Perhaps we can find your clan on the way.”

Velanna was looking at the collapsed tunnel with narrowed eyes. “They say…” she faced Alim, her expression resolute. “They say wardens can sense darkspawn, even deep beneath the ground. I would join the Grey Wardens. Give me the ability to hunt down these monsters in the deep.”

Alim blinked. He had little experience with Dalish elves, but Velanna, for all her power, looked young. He knew they lived far longer than his city brethren, and she was willingly… He swallowed and shook his head.

“The joining could kill you.”

“At the very least it’s hard to get the taste out of your mouth for a few hours,” Anders muttered.

“I am not afraid of death.”

Nathaniel muttered something and turned away and Alim sighed, sheathing Spellweaver on his back. 

“You have seen my magic. You cannot deny it will help you in your battle against the darkspawn. I am offering to pledge my service to you in exchange for the powers your order can grant. What say you?”

He looked at her. They would have to find the strange darkspawn, that much was certain. If Seranni stayed with him, then his work would bring them to what Velanna wanted in any case. There was the chance she would die in the joining. She would never have children. She would be forced to die fighting the darkspawn, or succumb to the taint. 

And there was a chance her sister would be dead before they could reach her.

“She wants to be a warden, Commander,” Nathaniel said over his shoulder. “How many willing recruits do you get for the Wardens?”

He swallowed, remembering Mhairi. Jory. Daveth. The dead recruits at Weisshaupt. He shivered, feeling the harsh snow laden wind of the Anderfels on his skin, even though they were far underground. “Too many,” he said. “Velanna, we’ll have to go back to the Vigil in order to put you through the Joining. And once you’re a warden, you’re expected to stay with us, even should you find your sister. It is a calling, and you will be under my command. The Wardens give up their identities. You will have no clan, no life other than us. Do you understand?”

The elf’s mouth twisted in a bitter line. “I cannot go back to my clan,” she said. “It will be good to have a purpose.”

He took a deep breath. “Very well then. Welcome to the wardens.”

Velanna looked down and then up again, in what he realised was her version of a bow. She was so very proud. _Dangerous, in a mage. Very dangerous._

 _“Ma serannas,”_ she said softly. “Shall we go then? I’ve had enough of this place.”

Alim nodded and motioned for the others to leave. He stood for a moment in the centre of the chamber, looking at the corpses of the dragons, the masonry littered everywhere from their spells and remembered the soft tones of the darkspawn’s voice. What was he planning? 

He rubbed absently at the scar on his palm as he followed the others outside into the moonlight.


	27. At least not until I've had a bath

There was an air of tense anticipation in Amaranthine when the got there, and it didn’t help that Velanna thought it was all right to accost elves and accuse them of being pathetic because they weren’t Dalish enough. The people of the city - _his people -_ he reminded himself, were afraid. He could _smell_ it. 

Ser-Pounce-A-Lot hated it and refused to come out of Anders’ robes. Nathaniel’s hand was never far from his bow and Anders occasionally sparked with lightning. His own hands periodically iced over, nerves strung so tight from the never ending barrage of near-death that he was somewhat astonished he hadn’t accidentally frozen a random citizen.

He hadn’t done that since he was an apprentice.

In his defense, it had been pretty funny.

He found himself a new staff at one of the market stalls - a beautiful piece, well balanced, _expensive_ and everything any mage might want, but as he hefted it in his hands and handed over most of the coin he was carrying he felt wrong. He remembered the rough feel of the wood of Wintersbreath, the way ice seemed to crackle over its surface even before he’d reached into the fade, the way it had seemed to leap to his commands and shook his head.

The staff was beautiful.

He hated it. 

He slung it on his back anyway and stomped back towards the entrance, where Anders and Justice were talking animatedly. Or at least, Anders was talking with animation and Justice was standing as still as the statue of Andraste Anders was leaning against. Nathaniel had left to speak with his sister, saying he would meet them back at the keep, and Velanna had grumbled something about the city being too smelly and stalked out the gates to wait for them 

“No, no, no, you see the Templars are organised in a hierarchy that promotes the ones who… do the _worst_ get the most credit, you know, the more mages you’ve captured, the more harrowings that have ended in death the more…”

“But this is a religious order, is it not? Does not the worship of Andraste preach mercy and compassion to…”

“To everyone except _mages_ Justice. It’s all well and good to be merciful and compassionate as long as it doesn’t…”

“Shut up Anders,” Alim said.

Anders looked up and eyed the staff on his back. “Ooooh, Commander you bought _Spellfury?_ I’ve been eyeing that for _weeks._ I didn’t know there was that much coin in the warden coffers!”

“There isn’t,” Alim said shortly. “Not any more, any way.”

“Woolsey will have a _fit.”_

“I needed a new staff, Anders. I can’t defend Amaranthine with a twig.”

“I know for a fact that there are at least three other staffs for sale in the markets that are approximately a _tenth_ of the price of that one.”

“I’m the Commander of the Fucking Grey, Anders, I need a _good_ staff.”

The older mage rolled his eyes. “Fine. Fine.”

“We need to get back to the keep, I want to get Oghren and Sigrun up to speed on this talking darkspawn and see what we can get out of his research.”

“Are you truly going to make the elf a grey warden, Commander?” Justice said as they started towards the keep. Velanna came into sight, arms folded and foot tapping, just beyond the walls. 

Alim blinked, looking at how straight she stood, then thought of the slow spread of corruption, the dark tendrils of the taint that clawed at his own body and would soon claw at all of the other wardens at the Keep. 

He rubbed at his face. “She wants it.”

“She is unaware of the implications of her request,” the spirit said. “She will lose her extended lifespan. Suffer debilitating dreams…”

“I _know,_ Justice.”

The spirit was silent for a few moments.

“It is not just, the sacrifice wardens make,” he said finally.

Alim sighed. “No. But it’s necessary.”

Justice hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “True.”

Anders flirted with Velanna all the way back to the keep. Alim suspected that after the first rejection he was simply curious to see if he could make the elf explode with rage. It was only Nathaniel gently but _firmly_ telling him to shut up that stopped him - that and a rather pointed comment from Velanna about the size of his fireballs. The mage spent the last leg of the trip sulking and patting his cat.

There were more than the usual number of people milling about in the courtyard and Alim spared a worried glance at them as he made his way past the private who gave him letters… what was her name again? 

“Feels wrong,” Anders said, frowning. “You should deal with this as soon as possible. I really don’t like the look of it. Of them…”

Alim nodded. “Neither do I.”

Anders shushed Pounce, who had emerged to sit on his shoulder and had fluffed out his tail. There was a definite air of… anticipation, much the same as the one in Amaranthine, but here… here it was more concentrated.

More dangerous.

“Everyone get inside. I’ll speak to Varel and come back out as soon as possible.” He could hardly make an impression now, covered as he was in dirt and darkspawn muck, ragged, tired and filthy. He didn’t look like an Arl - he looked like some gutter-rat city elf - the commoners would look down on him and not listen to a word he said…

_I could make them listen._

Alim bared his teeth and pushed through the double doors to the great hall, where he was met immediately by an anxious Garavel and a scowling Woolsey.

Anders slipped away, grinning, muttering about having work to do, and Alim made a tiny vow that when the crisis was past he would hand the wardens over to Anders - templars and the First Warden be damned. See how _he_ liked it.

“Commander the nobles…”

“Commander I hear the caravans are finally getting…”

“We have to convene…”

“…a new staff Commander? I wish you would send requisitions to me for approval there is _limited_ coin in the treasury….”

Alim held up a hand. “Can this wait until I’ve got the darkspawn goo off my robes? Possibly?”

Garavel looked grim and shook his head. “Ser, the Seneschal needs you immediately, there is unrest in the courtyard… he thinks there might be a riot!”

Alim pursed his lips. “Yes. I think he may be right. Tell him to meet me down there, I’ll make myself decent enough to get through to them.”

“We might not have time….”

“Garavel, if I go down there now they’ll mistake me for the elf that nicked their coinpurse last week. Give me ten minutes to at least wash my face. I’ll be there.”

“Ser.”

Alim hurried to his room, where he stripped off the robes he’d found in the lair of the talking darkspawn. As he washed and redressed his mind was buzzing unpleasantly. If the commoners really _were_ on the verge of rioting he didn’t know what he could do to stop them. He pulled a comb through his hair and tied it back, using some magically applied grease to slick it down - it would be a nightmare to wash out again later but he didn’t have the time to do anything else, then slung Spellfury on his back and made his way back down.

It was much worse.

People surged against the barrier that the soldiers had made, uncaring of edged weapons, he knew because the call of blood sang to him from several areas. So strange that he could pinpoint exactly which of the peasants were wounded, which were closest to breaking.

They were all very, _very_ close.

_One spell, and you could make them all turn around. Follow your orders, do your bidding. The blood is there to use, you would not even have to harm anyone._

“Fuck _that,”_ Alim muttered under his breath.

“We have to stop them,” Varel said.

“Perhaps I can persuade them to leave…” Alim chewed at the side of his cheek. The peasants were shouting things - accusing him of not sending troops to protect them (he had), of abandoning them to the darkspawn (he hadn’t). “Maker’s breath, their collective mental capacity has gone _down….”_

“Mobs are never very good at reasoning,” Varel said. “Persuasion isn’t likely to work here. They’re not _thinking._ They’re _reacting.”_

Garavel nodded in agreement. “You do not coddle rebellion, m’lord,” he said.  “You _put it down.”_

Alim allowed himself a small smile and settled his staff into his hand. “Put it down you say?” 

The spell came easily - one of his best although he rarely used it these days. He held it contained for a few moments as he turned to Varel and the Captain. “You might want to stay behind me, sers,” he said. “Unless you feel like catching up on sleep?”

The two men and the blonde private _what_ was _her name? he would have to find out later_ took prudent steps backwards and he released his magic into the crowd. As the first few peasants slumped over, breathing steadily, there was a brief outcry and a desperate scrabble for the exits. One or two of the peasants managed to get outside the gates before the spell forced them into sleep.

Alim surveyed the carnage - _not carnage, they were all still alive -_ with a satisfied nod. “Get the troops to clear them out, Varel,” he said. 

“Commander,” the seneschal had a small smile on his lips. “They will still be angry when they wake.”

“True, but they’ll be angry away from here. Let them riot in the streets of Amaranthine if they must, just not in my front garden thanks. Or at least, not until I’ve had a bath.”

Varel chuckled and started giving out orders to the soldiers and Alim allowed himself a grin as he made his way back up to his quarters. A bath. Some food. New robes. 

Then back to warden business.


	28. He kind of smells

Alim stood outside the door to Anders lab, tapping the letter in his hands against his leg. He was wearing new robes - another new style, this time from the wardens at Ansburg who had a better idea of what sort of a climate Alim had to work in than the outfitters in the Anderfels. The hated staff was leaning against a wall in his office, being expensive and looking wrong. He’d left it there and strapped Spellweaver to his back instead, at least the sword was familiar, although the weight felt wrong without Wintersbreath to counter it.

The commoners who’d rebelled were all safely back in their homes, but from the whispers and rumours reaching his ears his little stunt in the courtyard had possibly caused more harm than good. He had an inkling of how the Baroness had started out - using magic just to shut up the ignorant populace could well become addictive.

He wasn’t _entirely_ sold on the idea of setting himself up as a sorcerer lord right at this moment, especially given there were Templars around who were supposed to stop that sort of thing.

_Templars._

He made a face and pushed into the lab.

Anders was bent over a bench, frowning in concentration as he studied things in beakers. Alim was a _good_ herbalist, but his skill in that, like most other things (aside from healing) came from natural talent rather than applied study. He knew that Anders had a heavy dose of both of those things - the man had loved books almost as much as Finn.

A familiar odour made him blink and he glanced at a corner to see Justice standing impassive and silent, observing the man work. 

“Commander,” the spirit said. Alim looked at Anders, who seemed oblivious to his companion. 

“Justice. I… ah… wanted a word with Anders if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” the spirit replied, but remained standing.

Alim allowed himself a small smile. “Alone, if you please, it’s a personal matter.”

The spirit looked confused, insofar as his face conveyed emotion, but he inclined his head and exited the room. Anders was carefully wiping his hands, a troubled expression on his face. “What’s going on Alim?”

“Are you ok with Justice just standing here watching you?” Alim asked.

Anders blinked. “I didn’t even realise he was there.”

“He…. kind of smells.”

Anders laughed and waved at his nose. “This place stinks any way,” he said, and he was right - the pervasive odours of blood, lyrium and herbs were almost enough to cover the slight tang of rotted flesh. Perhaps Alim was just sensitive. Perhaps it was, as Oghren was so fond of telling him, an _elf thing._

“I just… well I thought you would have been sensitive to that sort of thing.” _Being watched all the time._

Anders’ brow furrowed and he bent back down to a bubbling beaker. “Huh. You’ve got a point. But we _were_ talking before he went all still and silent. I just assumed he’d left. And I know he doesn’t mean me any harm.”

Alim remembered the particular sound of Justice’s sword sliding through the metal of Rylock’s breastplate. “True.” He was still tapping the letter he held against his thigh, and Anders finally noticed it.

“What have you got there?” he looked hopeful. “Another letter from Karl?”

Alim swallowed. “No.” He fiddled with it for a few seconds, then just threw it on the table next to the burner. _Close_ to the burner. “It’s from the Grand Cleric.”

Anders snorted as he moved the beaker off the flame and started stirring it with a metal rod. The rod smoked a little and Anders made a frustrated noise, pulled it out and started swirling the concoction instead. “Let me guess. She wants me sent back to the circle. Or burnt at the stake. Or locked up and only let out to burn darkspawn. Or killed! Killed would make sense.”

“She doesn’t know how Rylock died,” Alim said. _Unless someone in the keep is reporting to her._ He did not like _that_ thought, and shook his head to clear it. “Alistair would back you up in any case, so would the First Warden if it came to that. Rylock threatened our ability to be effective against the darkspawn.”

“I doubt she’d care. After all the blight’s finished, right? Who needs wardens any more? Especially _mage_ wardens…”

Alim sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Look, Anders, once this business with the Architect is over I’m going to have to… take leave for a while.” Anders raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “Point is… you’re not going to be very safe without a mage Warden Commander to protect you. This letter proves that the Grand Cleric isn’t afraid to step on some warden toes when it comes to apostates.”

Anders settled the beaker he was holding carefully on the bench and noted a few things in a book with a quill, then he nodded, lips pressed close together. “What does she ask for?”

“Templar recruits. In the wardens.”

Anders swore, long and hard. Alim winced. “Look, I’m going to leave you in charge when I go….”

“You’re _what?”_

“I’m going to name you acting commander…”

“Oh, no. No, you’re not. _Maker_ , no….”

“Anders you’re the only one I trust with this I’m not going to give it to the _Howe_ and Oghren can’t… not right now he’s…”

Anders was shaking his head rapidly. “You can’t tie me down here, Alim. I’m no leader, I’ll mess it up!” His voice rose, almost to a squeak on the last word, and Alim raised his own to match it.

“It’s the only way I can think of to protect you!”

Anders snarled and jabbed a finger at his chest. “You said I wouldn’t need protecting any more!”

“I didn’t think you _would!”_

“You didn’t think _at all.”_

Justice was in the room before Anders’ last shout died down. 

“Commander, is something amiss?”

Alim spun on his heel and gave the spirit a hard look. “Were you waiting outside the room, Justice?” he asked. 

“I was.”

_“Why?”_

“I was concerned. I heard shouting. And the Seneschal mentioned that the Commander has been in correspondence with the Grand Cleric - I understand she is the leader of the…” the remains of the spirit’s lip curled in disdain “… _templars.”_

Anders waved his hand. “It’s not your problem, Justice.”

Justice shook his head firmly. “That is incorrect. The injustice that was perpetrated upon you and your fellow mages continues. I have decided it must be stopped.”

Alim imagined he could feel his jaw hit the floor. Anders, however, started chuckling. The chuckle turned into a full, throaty laugh, interspersed with desperate gasps. Justice stood, stiff and silent, simply watching.

“This is amusing?” the spirit said. “I am uncertain why.”

Anders shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes. “No. No it’s not, Justice. I just… well… “ the tall mage shrugged. “It’s a little surprising, that’s all.”

Alim raised his eyebrow at the spirit. “How were you planning on doing this, may I ask? The system’s been in place for more than a thousand years.”

“If I were to join with a mortal mage together we would have access to considerable power.”

There was a long silence, punctuated in Alim’s head by ugly, delighted laughter. _Even the spirit believes we are greater together than apart. Why do you resist?_

“Justice did you just suggest possessing someone?” Anders said in a small voice. “Did you just suggest _possessing me?”_

The spirit looked righteously offended. “No! I would never do such a thing, it is an act of violence. I was, however, speaking with Nathaniel Howe recently and he made a few interesting points…”

“I’ll bet he did,” Alim muttered.

Anders held up his hands. “Perhaps we can discuss it later. And by discuss it I mean _not do it,_ all right Justice?”

Justice frowned. “I thought you wished to help the mages.”

“I thought I’d made it clear that I’d rather help _myself.”_

“This is all somewhat beside the point,” Alim said. “Right now, we’re wardens, and we’re trying to get rid of the darkspawn, all right? Everything else…” he gave Justice a hard stare “can wait.”

“As you say, Commander.”

Alim turned his attention back to the beakers and notebooks scattered around Anders’ workbench. “What have you discovered about what they were trying to do with my blood?”

Anders shook his head, looking troubled. “Not much, I’m afraid, Commander. I’ve gotten more from the notes he took.” He swallowed. “Enough to know it’s about the joining, and he mentions having worked with wardens before - more than twenty years ago.”

Alim pursed his lips. “I didn’t think darkspawn lived that long.”

“Might explain why the people he had with him weren’t dying of the taint…”

“That could be useful down the line.”

Anders nodded. “I don’t know if the pay off is worth it though.” Alim agreed, remembering the film of white over Seranni’s eyes and the corruption dancing across the skin of the dwarven woman.

_We’ll all end up like that eventually any way._

He swallowed hard, not liking where that thought was going.

“See what else you can find out,” Alim said, then gave Justice a hard stare, “Also, Justice, no more talk of… _merging…_ I don’t want….”

The slam of the door bursting open stopped him from continuing, and he looked up to see a panting Garavel. “Commander you have to come!” he shouted. 

Alim made a face. “What is it this time?”

“The darkspawn are attacking Amaranthine!”


	29. Feels weird when he does that

“Velanna isn’t happy,” Nathaniel’s voice was mild.

“I don’t think she’s capable,” Alim said. They walked as briskly as they could. “In any case I’m doing her a favour. You know what the joining ritual does. She doesn’t. I somehow doubt making her a warden would _improve_ her temper.”

Nathaniel shrugged as he fingered the string on his bow, eyes moving from left to right constantly, always on the look out. He was an _excellent_ rogue - far more useful in many ways than Zevran had been. Zevran had been used to working on his own until the last minute - fighting in a team had taken a lot of adjusting, fighting large numbers even more. _Nathaniel_ had been trained for war.

Alim started wondering if he could conscript a few more nobles. He doubted they’d be too happy about it. He had to repress a grin at the thought.

“Leaving Oghren in charge may have been a mistake,” Nathaniel was saying.

“He’s sober.”

 _“Today_ he’s sober,” Anders muttered from behind Nathaniel. Alim shot him a glare. 

“And experienced. Which is more than I can say for the others…”

“Sigrun could have done it,” Nathaniel said.

Alim shook his head. “I adore Sigrun beyond all reason, Ser Howe, but she’s still suspiciously keen on the whole “dying alone and forgotten” aspect of her legion training. I don’t particularly want her to choose to do it in the middle of defending the keep.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “In my experience it’s not a good idea to trust a drunk with command.”

“Oghren isn’t your brother,” Alim snapped. “And I don’t like it when you dispute my command decisions.”

The archer fixed him with a grey gaze for a moment. Alim simply looked back, until the older man ducked his head. “You’re right. I... apologise.”

Alim twitched an eyebrow. There was still something satisfying about being deferred to by a noble. It would be nice if some of the councillors from Denerim were around so he could rub their noses in it.

“In any case, Voldrik assures me the walls will hold, we’ve got enough men and there’s nothing we can do about it right now so I suggest you concentrate on the job I’ve given you rather than the ones I’ve given to other people.”

Nathaniel shot him an amused look and Alim resisted the urge to growl at him. He was tense, there was no denying it. There were darkspawn all around, in large numbers, none close enough to engage, but enough that he knew when the time came the battle would not be easy.

There were Ogres. Of that he was certain. Funny how even now his warden senses were improving - he’d never been able to tell what _types_ of darkspawn were ahead of him before, but the pull of his blood was becoming more sensitive all the time.

The darkspawn trail was easy enough to follow. They burned things, in their wake, and tainted the ground with their blood and ichor. Every now and then Alim spied a corpse - taken down by enthusiastic peasants (one had a pitchfork shoved through its chest) but the people didn’t know enough to burn them when they fell, or didn’t have the time, more like, and the ground around was turning black rapidly. Alim wondered how many of his people had been tainted, how many would die, or spread the taint to others. His hands twitched.

“Anders we’re going to have our work cut out for us in the next few weeks,” he said absently.

Anders nodded, brow furrowed. “The taint is communicable,” he said softly. “We’re going to have to isolate these people. Full quarantine for the city. It’s not going to be pretty, especially given the state of the farms…”

Alim gave a soft smile. “And you say you’ll be no good at leading.”

Anders bared his teeth at him. “Medical procedures, _Commander._ I’m a trained healer, not a diplomat. Do you really want me negotiating with the local _Chantry_ about the tithes they use to pay their mage-jailors?”

“Maker preserve us,” Alim intoned. Anders made a face at him.

“Ware!” Nathaniel interrupted. “Darkspawn ahead.”

Justice was already striding forward, his black armour gleaming in the setting sun. Alim nodded and let Spellweaver and _the staff_ fall into each hand, ready for attack as a group of genlocks lumbered towards them, snarling and spitting at the wardens. Justice cleaved one in two with his sword and bashed another to the ground with his shield before calling forth fade energy and flickering into insubstantiality.

Alim caught Anders shudder and looked at him curiously. The other mage shrugged. “Feels weird when he does that.”

He supposed Anders was right, although the closeness of darkspawn scratching and screeching across his nerves pushed strange-fade-warrior-stuff into the background for him. “On your left,” he said, nodding towards the first cluster of farms before the city gates, and Anders turned and blasted lightning in one fluid motion, burning the two hurlocks to a crisp and setting fingers of light dancing across a hoe left carelessly on the ground. A quick telekenesis spell lifted the fork and plunged it into the chest of a third hurlock who spouted black ichor from its throat and collapsed. Alim turned back to where Justice was giving a good account of himself against a group of four genlocks, a familiar thud of heavy footsteps making him grit his teeth.

He had been right. There _were_ ogres.

Also, emissaries. One particular emissary who was holding the most fabulous thing Alim had ever seen.

At first he thought it was just a stick, the way most darkspawn emissary staves were just sticks, sometimes with a few charms wrapped around them, but essentially, long bits of wood that tended to disintegrate after the first few spells you cast, especially if they were of any strength.

No simple stick had _curves_ like that. 

When the emissary fell to one of Justice’s sword thrusts Alim knelt beside its body and reached out a tentative hand to the staff. It seemed to _leap_ into his hand with a crackle of ice and frost and he let a happy sigh escape him as he ran greedy fingers over it’s length. 

“What is the Commander doing?” he heard Justice’s voice, but didn’t pay attention to it. Anders chuckled.

“I think he might be in love.”

“With a staff? That does not seem logical.”

“We’re very attached to our staffs. It’s a mage thing.”

“He spent a great deal of coin on the one that is now lying underneath the dead ogre.”

“Well how about you help me shift the ogre and I’ll… ah… look after it for him? He wouldn’t want to lose it, I’m sure.”

“Of course, mage. How shall you carry two?”

“Oh, I’ll manage, don’t worry. Never hurts to have more than one, you know, not with Templars about…”

“One day you will not have to worry about Templars.”

“Ha bloody ha, Justice. I never knew they had comedy in the fade.”

“I was not joking.”

“Commander?” Nathaniel’s hand on his shoulder finally brought him back to himself and he stood. “That looks… interesting.”

He grinned. “Colder than a frozen lamppost.” His grin turned into a chuckle, thinking of Alistair. He hefted the staff in one hand before settling it in the sling at his back, feeling the cold radiating from it like the touch of his old friend. 

“A what?”

“Never mind.”

The city could be saved. The city _would_ be saved, no matter what Nathaniel said. So what if they had to be confined and dying of the taint for months… there was a chance, a _chance_ that some of them could live and no matter how much he wished he never had to see that creeping corruption again, they did their _damndest_ to make sure every hint of darkspawn, every speck of the taint was burnt to ash and dust when they went through the city. He would not have his city be burnt to the ground because he wasn’t strong enough to protect them. He would _save_ them…

_“Dal soffio di Dio si è troppo bello per essere vero.”_

“No,” his voice came out huffed as he killed another hurlock. _“You_ are too good to be true…”

“What is it that you say, Commander?” Justice never sounded out of breath. He supposed that was because there was no breath to be had.

“Nothing, Justice.”

When they were done, when all the darkspawn lay dead and he’d set what remained of the city guard to carefully collecting and burning the corpses, he leaned on Lamppost and surveyed the damage.

“Could be worse,” Anders said.

Alim nodded. “Not much, but yes. At least there were some people with sense directing things.” Delilah, Nathaniel’s sister, and her husband, had spent a great deal of effort making sure the civilian populace were safe and out of the way in one of the noble houses. He had time to thank the paranoia of this particular noble, who had high walls and solid oak gates, and also the persistence of Delilah, who had shouted and railed and threatened at said gates until the nobleman had been shamed into opening them. Thanks to her quick thinking, none of those with her had become tainted. He had a bad feeling about some of the city guard, however, but there was always the joining for those men and women - they needed to bolster their numbers in any case. 

“I suppose you want Spellfury back now,” Anders said. 

Alim shook his head. “Keep it,” he said. “You seem to be able to make it work better than I can.” He patted Lamppost fondly. “And it looks like I’m all staffed.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Well, you certainly won’t be mistaken for anything but a mage with _that_ on your back,” he said. “At least Spellfury is _slightly_ less conspicuous.”

“I’m not too fussed about being incognito, Anders,” Alim said, but he was distracted by a tingling feeling and he swore suddenly. “I thought we’d gotten rid of them…” He spun on his heel to see another of the talking darkspawn approaching and he lifted Lamppost, intending to shoot the thing into pieces. 

The pathetic thing threw up its hands and cowered. “Please not to be killing me! I am a messenger!”

Alim paused, but didn’t lower his staff. Behind him he heard the chime of Justice drawing his sword and sensed Nathaniel cocking and drawing an arrow. “Really? What’s the message?”

 _A chance to end this_ , he hoped. _I have things to do._


	30. Stopped a blight, can't complain

“It smells,” Anders said. “And I have a horrible feeling I know what it smells like.”

“I wonder if the broodmothers talk too?” Alim flicked darkspawn blood off his hand and absently healed the burn it left. The architect had gone down after a brutal fight. Alim was still mind-boggled that the thing could even suggest uplifting more of his brethren, it had gone _so terribly well_ for the ones that he’d helped so far. Weisshaupt was beseiged enough without adding thinking, talking darkspawn to the things they had to worry about.

“Oh please don’t put that image in my head,” Anders was busy healing Nate’s shoulder. The dwarf woman had been fast - far faster than they’d expected from someone gone in the taint as she had seemed to be, and she’d managed to get a good slice in that was going to take a bit of time to heal.

Alim had rested in worse places, he supposed. At least there were no giant spiders down here, although the childer grubs could be considered just as bad. He slumped against a wall with Lamppost across his knees and watched Anders work, the slight tingling of his connection to the fade soothing and sending him back to other times - times in the tower, or at camp during the blight. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine a body next to him, warm, the scent of leather and sweat and blood, the slide of callused fingers on his arm…

“Commander?” Justice’s voice was gentle. “We are not finished here. Are you well?”

He nodded. “Just tired, Justice,” he said. “Just… tired.”

“I am fortunate not to suffer from fatigue,” the spirit said. “It is a disadvantage to a mortal body.”

“It is. Fortunately wardens don’t get as tired as regular people. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“Regular people don’t have to fight mutated childer grubs and wade through tainted sludge,” Anders pointed out. His breath was coming quickly and Alim glanced at him to find him wrapping a bandage around the wound on Nathaniel’s shoulder. Anders noticed his look and nodded. “It’ll hold,” he said. “But I hope the Mother isn’t as tough as the Architect or we’ll be having a hard time getting back up the stairs.”

“Should have… made the deal…” Nathaniel croaked out. “Could have… gone back on it…”

Alim’s eyes widened, then he laughed. “Oh, Ser Howe. Nobility, eh?”

The archer narrowed his eyes, but his lips twitched a little. “I _am_ a Howe,” he said, shifting.

“We’re not going anywhere for a few hours, Howe or no,” Anders said, moving Nathaniel into a more comfortable position on his bedroll. “It’s not the nicest place to camp, but we can throw the dismembered body parts into that chasm and set up a watch. I need to let my mana regenerate and have another go at that shoulder any way.”

“You should sleep,” Justice said. “I will stand watch.”

A few moments ago Alim had felt that sleep would never come again, but with Justice’s offer a wave of tiredness washed over him with enough strength that he nodded. “Thank you, Justice,” he said. “Wake us in two hours. I don’t want to risk any longer.”

“As you say, Commander.”

He lay down on his bedroll and was asleep within seconds.

_The campsite was completely empty. Alim picked his way over the corpses of Shrieks, puzzled as to where everyone had gone. Sten was supposed to be on watch - it had been his cry that had alerted them to the attack, but the Qunari was no where in sight._

_“You linger here, always,” a voice whispered in his ear. “Yet you had peace when you lived in the palace. What draws you back to war and blight?”_

_In the way of dreams he was suddenly in the office of the Chancellor in Denerim._ HIS _office. He could hear Zev’s hearty chuckle from the corridor and he moved to the door to go and greet his lover, but the door would not budge. Frustrated, he called forth magic to force the lock, but the power stuttered and died on his hands. He thumped the wood, but Zevran’s voice faded and he knew the Antivan had moved away._

_“As though everything was always out of your reach,” the voice mused, “despite having it all at your fingertips.”_

_He frowned and the scene changed again. This time he was in the harrowing chamber of the Tower, surrounded by the corpses of his friends and former collegues. He sat with his hands on his knees against the wall, right in front of the corpse of the pride demon Ulric had become. Funny, how hard it was to remember exactly what Ulric had looked like before his change. He had a vague memory of shiny baldness and barely contained anger, but aside from that, the horned purpleness was all that he could conjure when he thought of the man._

_That, and the blood._

_“Why do you not use the power I have given you?”_

_Alim sighed and looked up. She looked like a desire demon. Purple. Naked. “Why do you keep appearing to me like that?” he said. “You have to know it’s not really my thing.”_

_She shrugged. “I am not trying to tempt you now, mortal. I simply… desire to understand.”_

_“I thought you lived off the desires of others?”_

_“You have a limited understanding of my kind.”_

_“That’s true.” He smiled at her._

_“Is_ that _why you will not use the blood?”_

_“Partly,” he got to his feet, and picked his way through the corpses to the lyrium font. “You brought me here. Why don’t you try to guess the other reasons?” He reached into the lyrium font, but it was an illusion, there was no power there, and it did nothing._

_She glanced around at the carnage. “You won,” she said. “And Ulric’s stupidity doomed him. The demon he joined with should have known better.”_

_Alim shook his head and grinned ruefully. “How exactly? I mean, it’s not as though you manage to join with every second mage you meet. For all you know I could go mad and stab myself to death as soon as I start letting you help with my spells…”_

_“You were made to use the power of the blood,” she said, stepping closer. “It sings to you in a way it does not to other mages. You could be greater than any sorcerer living or dead.”_

_“And here I thought you were a desire demon. Sounding awfully like you’re trying to appeal to my pride, there.”_

_“You are proud of your achievements,” she said._

_“Stopped a blight,” he said, shrugging. “Can’t complain.”_

_“But you want so much more!”_

_He closed the distance between them. “Do I? Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is I want, and then maybe I’ll get you to give it to me.”_

_Her eyes narrowed and she stared back at him, for a long, long moment._

_“You want him back.”_

_He nodded. “What else?”_

_“You want him never to have gone.”_

_Alim laughed bitterly and pointed at her. “Exactly.”_

_“I cannot give you that.”_

_“Shouldn’t you be lying and saying you can?”_

_“You would know I lied.”_

_“I would.”_

_“What_ can _I give you?” Her voice was almost plaintive._

_He sucked at his teeth, then looked down at his hands. Dream hands, he knew now, as he usually knew whenever he entered the fade. Sometimes he willingly let his consciousness drift, but today, here, there were too many things at stake._

_Too many things._

_When he lifted his gaze and stared into her yellow eyes, he knew what he needed, and he knew exactly how to get it._


	31. Good show, that corpse

When he woke, he slipped out of his bedroll and padded to where Justice was standing watch, half way up the spiral staircase so he could see both ahead and behind them. 

“Commander,” Justice said, inclining his head in greeting.

“Justice. I have… a problem. One I think you can help me with.”

“Oh?”

“Walk with me and I’ll explain…”

Justice walked with him, and Alim explained. Everything.

The Mother’s lair stank worse than the pit of broodmothers in Kal Hirol and Alim had to force down a retch at the sight of her. It was a relief to know she was _actually_ insane, that the Architect’s little dream of randomly making darkspawn sentient was just as bad as Alim had feared, but what _wasn’t_ a relief was how sodding _strong_ she was. The battle was _not_ going to be easy.

“Huh. They do talk,” he said as he blasted her with ice.

They slipped into battle, back and forth, thrust and parry, cast and shield. It was a well choreographed dance and Alim had time to think that he was going to miss it.

“Oghren would have something to say about the number of nipples.”

“Oh maker, please don’t remind me.”

“Surely each breast only has one? Is not that a rule with all… uh… females?”

“Justice you really didn’t spend _any_ time looking at humanity when you were a spirit did you?”

“I am no demon to be tempted by flesh.”

“And yet here you are, in flesh.”

“I believe we should concentrate on the task at hand.”

“Kill that childer grub and I’ll be right with you.”

“They really make a lovely shattering sound when you get them in that spot, Justice, almost as good as when a walking bomb explodes.”

“I do wish you’d make an effort not to set those things near me when I’m trying to aim.”

“If you paid attention to things other than your precious arrow counts you’d hear me telling you to get out of the way.”

“Flailing your arms and screaming incoherently does not constitute a warning of what spells you intend to cast, Anders.”

“Always worked in the tower.”

“No it didn’t. Don’t lie to the Howe, Anders.”

“Maybe you should all shut up and concentrate on killing big fat and psychotic up there.”

“She’s too powerful and every time we get close she spits acid at us.”

“These childers have to run out eventually.”

“Did you _see_ how many eggs there were? We could be here until the next age.”

“How do you suggest getting closer then, broody?”

“Do not call me that.”

“Shoot her with arrows!”

“I _have been.”_

It was now or never, he realised. They were low on arrows. Low on mana. Nathaniel was limping and Justice’s armour had more rents and tears in it than Anders circle robes after being dragged back to the tower by Rylock. Literally. This was going to end right now, and no more people would be hurt, and no more darkspawn would dictate how he was going to live his life.

He pulled out his dagger.

“Alim what are you _doing?”_ Anders’ voice was high and urgent.

“Finishing this,” he said, and brought the knife down on his hand.

He heard Justice roar in rage as the spell took hold of the broodmother and her childers, noticed Anders charging up next to him too late to stop the swing of the knife, felt the power course through his veins even as the demon connected to him screeched in triumph. His feet were planted on the ground and his head was thrown back, feeling the beauty and rawness of his connection to magic in a way that had only been hinted at before now. 

He raised his arms, feeling the slide of his blood down his arm like a living thing, and the childers twitched and died, ichor and gore spurting from their bodies. The Mother’s shrieks were almost overpowered by the sound of things dying and his wardens shouting and Alim simply rode the crest of the spell, feeling full and knowing that he would soon be empty and not caring because _this_ was true power and anything else he had ever done was child’s play in comparison.

The chamber faded into the background. Sounds bled into silence and he was suddenly alone in the fade. Flat on his back, staring at the shifting colours of the sky. 

_She knelt over him, smiling and pushing hair back from his face. “You are mine now, elf,” she said. “Shall I show you all the things we can accomplish together? The world will bow before you, the darkspawn will die in droves and the Blights will end. You will live for centuries, with him by your side. Your enemies will not be able to touch you and there will only be the blood, and the power, and your love.”_

_He smiled into her face and reached up one hand to touch her lips. “Is that what you desire?” he said softly._

_“No. It is what_ you _desire,” she said smiling._

_She gathered him up into her arms and stood. The Fade stretched out around them and he no longer knew where his thoughts ended and hers began. It was a pleasant feeling. A seductive feeling. It would be so, so easy to give in to it._

_The sword that plunged through the centre of her chest and into his own side was something of a rude shock._

_Dolore screamed, a high tearing sound that reminded Alim of the Mother dying in her lair… moments…. or years ago, he was no longer certain. The demon dropped him, flung him really, clutching at the weapon protruding from her chest. He watched from where he had crumpled on the hard fade ground, with detached fascination as she fell backwards and started to disintegrate. “This was your plan?” she gasped, as black spread across her purple skin, fanning out from the terrible wound in her chest. The sword had disappeared, and there was no hint of who had wielded it. “To kill me once we had made our deal?”_

_“I wasn’t entirely certain it would work, but yes. This was the plan.”_

_“How?”_

_“I had a little talk with Justice when I woke up from the last dream we spoke in,” he said, smiling. “It seems his ability to alter weapons so they harm creatures of the fade is_ particularly _handy when you have a semi-possessed mage in the room.”_

_She snarled at him. “But you are wounded too!”_

_Alim touched his side. “I am. But luckily, I have a friend who is a rather talented healer. I’m sure I’ll be all right.” He shrugged. “And if I’m not, I at least get the satisfaction of knowing that_ you’re _going with me.” He eyed her wound, grinning._

_She screeched again with the pain, and he blinked and made a face. Her limbs were withering like plants too long in the sun, black spreading like fingers of the taint._

_“You have tasted the power of the blood now, mortal,” she was gasping now, the black creeping up her neck and towards her lips. “One of us will claim you before the end.”_

_“Perhaps,” Alim said, cheerfully. “But it’s_ not _going to be you. So terribly sorry to disappoint.”_

_With one last gasp she crumbled into dust and he lay back, laughing despite the pain or perhaps because of it. His mind felt curiously clear and although there was a sizable hole in his side that he had no mana to heal, he had confidence that Anders would be able to deal with it. In the meantime he lay back and looked at the swirling colours of the fade sky and wondered if the pile of rotting demon-stuff next to him would eventually start to smell. Probably not, he concluded. This was the fade after all._

_“Il mio amore, how do you get yourself into these situations?” Zevran chuckled and he felt long fingers gently tug through his hair. He sighed and closed his eyes._

_“Just luck, I suppose,” he said. “Why do you keep running away from them?”_

_“I suppose I wish you not to share the luck I have had, Alim,” Zev said. “But it seems you pull your own luck to you and little I do can change its course.”_

_“If we’re both going to have shit flung at us we may as well get it flung at us together,” Alim said. He wanted Zev to cradle his head in his lap, to kiss him and tell him he was safe, but the assassin simply continued to stroke his hair, soothing, comforting, more like a parent with a child than a lover._

_He heard Zevran give a deep sigh. “You are right, of course. As always. I should never have left you.”_

_Alim coughed weakly. His eyes felt heavy. “Damn right you shouldn’t.”_

_A single finger slid down to his ear and stroked upwards in a gentle sweep. Alim shivered. Zevran’s lips were suddenly very close to that ear, their shape and the way they formed words against his skin still familiar after all this time. “I shall expect admonishment when you find me, then,” he whispered._

_“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you are?”_

_The chuckle rumbled through him again and Alim’s heart ached with the desire to hear it again, out of the fade, feel the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart. “You know I am not truly here, il mio amore,” he said. Alim nodded, a tear slipping out from under his closed lid. The hand withdrew from his hair and Alim swallowed, trying to hold onto the feeling of Zevran’s nearness. He felt the other elf stand, however, and heard footsteps, light and sure as they moved away. One last sentence floated back towards him over the shifting landscape, almost too quiet to hear. “But you also know that I am waiting.”_

Alim blinked and tried to sit up, but a firm hand, _just a little bit too firm, actually,_ shoved him back down. “Stupid plan, _Commander,”_ Nathaniel said. “Justice’s sword would have killed you if Anders hadn’t been right there healing at the same time.”

“Is the Mother dead?” Alim said.

“Yes.”

“All the childer grubs?”

“All of them.”

“We’re all still alive?”

“Anders and I are, and Justice is as much as he ever was.”

“Not a stupid plan then. Actually a very good plan, as plans go.” Alim narrowed his eyes at Nathaniel. _“Sometimes_ when I make plans people die.”

 _“You_ nearly did,” Anders voice was strained with weariness. “And I’m covered in goo and Justice is _very cranky_ with you for the blood magic thing.”

“Couldn’t tell him beforehand,” Alim said. “Might have decided to stab me on the way here.”

“What _did_ you tell him then?”

“That there was a demon trying to possess me. Happens enough with mages for him not to be too suspicious. Also happened to be the truth.”

“Still, it took a lot of convincing for him not to stab you _again_ once he knew you were a blood mage, Commander,” Nathaniel said. “I think he’s sulking somewhere at the moment.”

“He killed the demon though,” Alim said grinning. “Good show, that corpse.”

“So you’re free of it now?” Nathaniel asked, looking at him suspiciously. 

“Of that one, yes. But I’m sort of a bit tainted now, unfortunately. There will be others.”

“Not if you don’t keep stabbing yourself whenever you get caught in a tough fight,” Anders said. 

“I hardly think doing it _twice_ is enough to justify your phrasing there, Anders,” Alim said, and attempted to sit up again. This time Nathaniel let him. “Ugh,” he said. “This place is disgusting.”

Nathaniel was wiping blood and other things off his hands with a rag, meticulously. “Yes,” he said. “It is.”

“Shall we go home then?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Anders said. Nathaniel chuckled.

 _The best plan,_ Alim thought as Nathaniel helped him to his feet. 

First, home, and then…

 _…then_ he had things to do.


	32. Won't catch me in fancy pants land

Alim was sealing a last letter to the First Warden when there was a knock at the battered remains of his office door. “Come,” he called. Oghren limped in, still using the cane Anders had insisted on, even though Oghren had laughed in his face the first time he was presented with it.

It was either the cane or flat on his back for months, and it hadn’t taken too long for the dwarf to realise even _with_ dwarven resistance to magic he couldn’t shake off the concentrated magic of _two_ healer mages.

“Commander,” Oghren said.

“You can stop calling me that, Oghren,” Alim said.

“Would you prefer elf-lips?”

“I always did.” Alim grinned at him and pushed the papers back. “What’s the problem?”

“Sparklefingers is complaining again. I told him to shove it. There’s letters from Orlais, they want to send some poofed up pansy Commander to take your place and I suspect the mage is going to write back to them and allow it as soon as you’re out the door…”

“If Anders wants to hand over power that’s up to him,” Alim said, frowning. “But I hope you try to convince him otherwise.”

“The man can only give orders if it’s to do with spoiling my fun,” Oghren grumbled. “But I’ll do my best. Also, the Howe wants to know if you got his papers, he has a few tips about the Free Marches in there. Says he used to hang around there a lot, before his father got his throat slit.”

“I’ve read them. Still no sign of Velanna?”

“No, she’s completely disappeared. Although why you think she could have survived that wall collapsing I’ll never know.”

“Even crazy elves leave corpses, Oghren. She may be back. Make sure Anders is on the lookout.”

Oghren shifted from foot to foot for a few seconds, looking at the floor and fiddling with is cane. Alim took the opportunity to stuff the last of his paperwork into his leather document folder.

“And I wanted…” Oghren stopped. His blazing red brow was furrowed. 

Alim smirked and watched him. “Yes?”

“Dammit, Alim. I wanted to ask you to stay. Why’d you make me say it?”

“Because I enjoy watching you squirm, Oghren.” Alim got up and came around to the front of the desk. “I’m sorry, old friend, but you know I have to find him.”

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make me any happier about it.”

There was a knock at the open door and Alim looked up. The King of Ferelden stood there, filling the doorframe. Alim had forgotten how huge his friend was. He noted, critically, that there were grey flecks in Alistair’s red-gold hair and a few crows feet around his eyes. He was smiling though.

 “Great. It’s the sodding pike-twirler.”

“Good to see you too Oghren.” Alistair said. “The ship is ready, Alim. Whenever you are.”

“Thanks, Alistair,” Alim said. “I doubt the wardens would have let me go so easily if you hadn’t thought of this.”

“My official representative in Antiva!” Alistair winked. “The Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey Wardens…”

“Pity I’m going to shirk my duties as soon as I get there.”

Alistair made a pained face. “At least make a _show_ of doing your job, please. For my sake. I have enough difficulty maintaining my credibility as it is.”

“It shouldn’t take me long to find him,” Alim said. “I promise I’ll do a fantastic job once he’s back where he belongs.”

“And I’m sure he’ll help you. In any case, get yourself down to the docks and go before I decide to appoint Oghren instead.”

“Won’t catch me in fancy pants land,” Oghren grumbled. “Felsi’d never stand for it.”

Alim grinned and shook Oghren’s hand. “Try to give Anders a hand if you can, Alistair,” he said. Alistair gave him a look.

“I still can’t believe you’ve left him in charge,” Alistair said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there are some grumbles about it from the Templars…”

“I’m counting on it.”

“I’ll try to keep the famous escapee out of trouble. Now go.”

They saw him off, at the gate. Anders, in his new commander robes, looking at him resentfully with Pounce curled on his shoulder and Justice his ever present shadow. “You’ll pay for this, you know,” he said as Alim passed.

“Just try to make sure you don’t,” Alim said. Anders rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he turned to direct the other wardens in a salute. Nathaniel Howe gave him a curt nod, but Sigrun rushed him and wrapped her arms around his middle in a vice like hug. 

“Go find your friend,” she said, grinning up at him. “And then come back. It won’t be the same without you here.”

“Make sure you’re here when I come, Legionaire,” Alim said, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair. “Also, give me back my coin purse.”

She winked and flicked it to him. He caught it and grinned at her. 

At the dock Alistair gave him a long look and held out his hand for Alim to shake. “Find him quickly,” his friend said. “And come home.”

“You have my word, Alistair,” Alim said. He climbed the plank up onto the ship and stowed his gear in the state cabin he would be sleeping in, smiling at the Ferelden mabari crest over the bed, wondering how Alistair crammed his six feet two inches in the tiny mattress whenever he had to go on state visits. Then he made his way back up on deck in time to watch Amaranthine Harbour disappear into the horizon. A light rain started to fall, and he lifted his face to feel the drops on it, taking a deep breath of sea air.

_I’m coming, Zev._


	33. Epilogue

The alley was small and dank and dark - a typical example of its kind, and the assassins that crowded into it in pursuit of the fleeing elf were also typical of this part of Rialto - swarthy, fast and very, very determined.

The elf cursed as he hit the back wall of the alley, turning to face his pursuers.

“Only three?” he said, white teeth flashing in a grin. “The crows are running short, no? You’d think you would run away more.”

“Traitor,” one of the assassins hissed. “Nuncio wants your head, and he’ll have it.”

The elf grinned again, turning his body to hide a movement with one hand, and the assassin who had spoken collapsed suddenly, a knife in his throat. The elf tutted. “Now now,” he said. “I was taught to avoid that sort of throw when I was six summers. The crows are getting soft.”

The remaining two assassins did not speak, only charged. There was a flurry of movement, and the two humans fell, leaving the elf standing. His daggers were dripping with blood and his grin fixed.

“Ah, this really gets the blood pumping, no?” he whispered, then coughed, doubling over and clutching at his side. “Possibly too much, in this case.” He stumbled out into the harsh sunlight, shaking his head. “This was a lot easier when I had my own personal healer,” he muttered. “You are late, Alim. I shall have harsh words with you when you get here.” He coughed again and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, leaving a red streak behind. “Not until _after_ you’ve healed me, however.”

He continued to mutter to himself as he made his way through the streets, drawing the odd curious look, but no real interest. Drunk elves, bleeding assassins, these were common enough in Rialto. The wise citizen kept their opinions, and their feelings, to themselves.

When the city guard found the corpses a few hours later, a snail like trail of blood led through the dust away from the alley, fading to nothing close to the docks. 


End file.
